X-Wing: Rogues' Gallery
by Agamar Rules The Galaxy
Summary: 45 years after the battle of Yavin, a new generation of Rogue Squadron takes to the stars to join the hunt for Natasi Daala. Occurs in the classic (Legends) Expanded Universe.
1. Author's Note and Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

I neither own nor claim to own any piece of the Star Wars franchise. The following work is a non-profit fan-based story with the intent of paying tribute to the late, great Aaron Allston and the classic (Legends) Expanded Universe. Any and all non-original characters, locations, and technology to follow belong to Disney, George Lucas, and the authors who created them.

Formatting also appears to be off. Though chapter numbers are centered in the document manager and preview screen, they may be off center when viewed normally. Currently working on a way to fix this.

**Dramatis Personae**

**Rogue Squadron**

Rogue Leader: Commander Syal Antilles, Human female from Corellia

Rogue Two: Flight Officer Leda Maros, Mirialan female from Mirial

Rogue Three: Flight Officer Jon Windspeaker, Human male from Tatooine

Rogue Four: Flight Officer Kaz Beiner, Human male from Sluis Van

Rogue Five: Lieutenant Jost Vigil, Human male from Corellia

Rogue Six: Flight Officer IG-90, assassin droid from Holowan Laboratories

Rogue Seven: Flight Officer Nodra, Duros male from Duro

Rogue Eight: Flight Officer Rosharra, Wookiee female from Kashyyyk

Rogue Nine: Commander Retta'res'hnuruodo, Chiss male from Csilla

Rogue Ten: Flight Officer Bulsara, Human male from [REDACTED]

Rogue Eleven: Flight Officer Tur'in'akar, Twi'lek male from Ryloth

Rogue Twelve: Flight Officer Sil Sund, Sullustan male from Sullust

**Wraith Squadron**

Voort 'Piggy' Sa'Binring, Gamorrean male from Gamorr

Turman Durra, Clawdite male

Myri Antilles, Human female from Corellia

Trey Courser, Human male

Jesmin Tainer, Human female

Wran Narcassan, Human male

Huhunna, Wookiee female from Kashyyyk

Drikall Bessarah, Devaronian male from Devaron

Viull 'Scut' Gorsat, Yuuzhan Vong male

Sharr Latt, Human male from Coruscant

Thaymes Fodrick, Human male

**Crew of the _Tiger Claw_**

General Wedge Antilles, Human male from Corellia

Jedi Grand Master Luke Skywalker, Human male from Tatooine

Jedi Knight Ben Skywalker, Human male from Coruscant

Captain Tomar, Mon Calamari male from Dac

Commander Sara Konnair, Human female from Coruscant

**Galactic Federation of Free Alliances**

General Han Solo, Human male from Corellia

General Tycho Celchu, Human male from Alderaan

Jedi Master Kyle Katarn, Human male from Sulon

Major Derek 'Hobbie' Klivian, Human male from Ralltiir

Major Wes Janson, Human male from Taanab

Lieutenant Kettch, Ewok male from Endor

**Galactic Empire**

General-Baron Soontir Fel, Human male from Corellia

General Turr Phennir, Human male

General Maarek Stele, Human male from Kuan

Fel's Wrath

Captain IC-1138, 'Boss', Human male from Kamino

**Independents**

Booster Terrik, Human male from Corellia

**Maw Irregular Fleet**

Admiral Natasi Daala, Human female from Irmenu

Castor, Human male from Wayland

**The Dread Masters**

Lord Calphayus, Human male

Lord Kharak, Human male

Lord Altis, Human male

**The Dead**

Mara Jade Skywalker, Human female

Gilad Pellaeon, Human male from Corellia


	2. 1: FNG

1

FNG

Explosions were the last thing Jost Vigil expected to see in a hangar bay.

'Dammit,' he muttered. There was no time for a proper flight check. Fuel, shields, and weapons all looked functional. That was all that mattered right now. He shut the cockpit and ignited his X-wing's engines. 'One to Red Flight,' he said into the comm, 'Forget standard deployment procedure and deploy the second you're ready. Launching now.'

He kicked the repulsorlifts into gear and entered the fray. His sensor board was a mess of red dots and missile icons. No friendly signatures—they were either dead or long gone from the furball. Red Flight's home base, the Mon Calamari cruiser, _Avenger_, burned in the cold white light of this desolate, backwater system. Its sleek, organic curves were marred by laser burns, missile impacts, and melted armor plate. Only a few of its point defense lasers remained operational. This was bad. Very, very bad. He turned his fighter in a tight arc that took him up and starboard, toward the thickest cluster of enemy TIEs. Vigil's astromech beeped in alarm.

'I know, I know,' he said, 'but we need to take some of the heat off the cruiser. Tag the TIE bombers as priority targets and everything else as secondary.'

His astromech chirped a reply.

'What do you mean, "unknown TIE variants"? Pull them up on the display.'

The droid complied and brought up images of the ugliest fighter he'd ever seen. One solar wing sat in between two ball pods, one of which was the cockpit. The other looked like a turbolaser. A _turbolaser_.

'What will Imperial science think of next? Tag those as priorities as well.'

Pumping discretionary power into shields and engines, he sped towards the nearest cluster of priority targets. Almost immediately, a flight of TIE interceptors—squints in Alliance piloting parlance—broke off from their attack runs to engage him. Vigil toggled to lasers and centered his targeting bracket on the lead TIE. As the distance counter ticked down, his crosshairs glowed green. A laser lock. He pulled the trigger, the squints following suit an instant later. And then the head-to-head was over as quickly as it began, the X-wing and interceptors passing one another.

KILL CONFIRMED, bleeped his droid. Good, Vigil thought. His remaining shield capacity didn't look too shabby either.

The interceptors would no doubt turn to tail him now, but he had no time to engage them. He switched to torpedoes and aimed at two of the enemy TIE bombers. He had a double lock tone. He fired, changed targets, then fired again. With less than five kilometers between him and the bombers, dodging his torpedoes would be next to impossible. Soon enough, four more kill messages appeared on his display. The interceptors, on the other hand, were still quite alive, and had closed the distance. Vigil pulled hard on the stick, his flight harness digging into his chest as his starfighter made a tight koiogran turn. Even through the X-wing's inertial compensators, he could feel the stresses of the turn. Bracketing another TIE, Vigil toggled to lasers again and fired a quad-linked blast. He missed, despite the lock, the TIE sideslipping at the last moment to dodge the attack. Vigil flicked the target selector switch, moving on to the other TIE. It made no sense to focus entirely on one target. That just made you vulnerable, and quite possibly dead. This second TIE was just as agile as its cousin, flitting in and out of Vigil's brackets too quickly for him to get a good shot. Vigil gave up on a direct kill. Instead, he pursued the target further down toward the _Avenger's_ surface. He aimed above the interceptor and fired. Reflexively, the pilot dodged down. Unfortunately for him, 'down' in this case was toward the cruiser's hull. The squint crashed into the _Avenger_ with a healthy explosion. As Vigil climbed again, a trio X-wings passed him, vaping the other two interceptors.

'One here, is that you, Red Flight?'

'Kept you waiting, huh?' quipped Red Three. Vigil recognized the voice and accent as those of Nodra, a Duros classmate from his academy days.

'Statement,' droned Red Two, 'We were busy with a few TIEs of our own.' Two was a droid by the name of IG-90. Vigil still hadn't gotten to know it all that well.

'So you were all TIE'd up?'

'One, Four,' growled a fourth voice in Shyriwook, 'Is this really the time for puns?' That was Rosharra, obviously a Wookiee.

Vigil ignored Four's comment and uploaded his targeting data to the other Reds. 'Form up by wing pairs, Red Flight. Focus on the bombers and the turbolasers, and save at least two torpedoes in case something else joins the party.'

Red Flight fought as one, destroying the TIEs swarming the _Avenger_. They quickly learned to stay well out of the turbolaser TIEs' sights after a grazing shot completely dropped Nodra's shields. Vigil could barely remember the ensuing furball as anything but a haze of laser fire and explosions. Thankfully, a few point defense turrets had survived the initial assault to back Red Flight up. By the time the space around the cruiser was clear, all four of them had made ace several times over.

Vigil opened a comm channel to the ship's bridge. '_Avenger_, this is Red One, what's your status?'

The comm buzzed with static for a moment before someone spoke up, coughing all the while. The bridge was probably on fire or filled with smoke. 'Red One, _Avenger_. Omega signal. I say again, omega signal. Give us a few minutes to repair our hyperdrive.'

'Statement: We do not have a few minutes, _Avenger_. My sensors pick up enemy reinforcements entering the system. I pick up four silhouettes that match those of TIE/D defenders.'

'Please, Red Flight, just hold off those TIEs a little longer.'

Rosharra responded with a colorful curse in her native tongue. 'Wonderful. And we're the only ones left to protect this tub.'

'Cut the chatter,' Vigil said. 'We only need to hold the defenders off long enough for the cruiser to escape. After that, we jump out.'

'How do we do that while those Defenders are on our asses?'

'Once _Avenger_ jumps, you three bug out. I'll hold the TIEs off myself.'

Red Two spoke up. 'Protest: That is suicide, Red One.' Was that concern in IG-90's voice?

'It's the only option we seem to have, Two. Do you have anything up your sleeves?'

'Statement: One wrist-mounted vamblade and one wrist-mounted flamethrower. Neither is sufficient for prosecuting the swift annihilation of TIE-piloting meatbags.'

'Frankly, Two,' Rosharra said. 'I'm not hearing the aggression I'd like.'

'Statement: Assassination protocols active. Prepare yourselves, meatbags.'

'Much better.'

Forming up on Vigil, Red Flight flew towards the four incoming TIE defenders. This looked like yet another head-to-head in the making. Vigil tensed. His shields still had not fully recovered from the last furball. He armed his last two torpedoes. As the two flights of fighters reached maximum weapons range, they loosed simultaneous torpedo volleys.

MISSILE LOCK! Vigil's astromech screamed. KEY TO TARGET?

Reflexively, he'd already flicked the target selector switch and locked onto the incoming proton torpedo. Most pilots would try to dodge, but if this gamble worked, he could blow the enemy torpedo out of space and target the defender with a flick of the stick. He set his lasers to maximum cycle and fired a hail of bolts at the torpedo's general direction. One second of fire yielded no results. Two seconds. Three. The torpedo detonated less than fifty meters from his cockpit, blocking his view of the defender. Targeting by instruments alone, he guessed where the TIE would move and fired a quad-linked blast through the fireball. He pulled up and inverted his fighter as he passed the explosion. The defender, its shields sparking and fizzling, zipped past underneath. He was so close to the TIE's ball cockpit that he could see the lights of its instrument panel as their paths crossed.

TIE defenders were faster, more agile, and more heavily armed than the X-wing. Red Flight was almost completely outmatched and outgunned. The only advantages the X-wing in this situation had were its slightly tighter turning radius and the aid of an astromech droid. Vigil pulled into another tight koiogran turn, this time eliciting a slight groan of stress from his X-wing's frame.

'Come on, baby,' he muttered, 'hold together.'

Done with the head-to-head, Red Flight and the TIEs turned and began their deadly dance. Vigil dove and followed the shieldless defender. If he could finish it off quickly, he could tip the scales even closer to victory, not that the pilot made it any easier for him. Red One forced himself into a state of calm. Block out the distractions, he told himself. The other Reds have the other TIEs distracted. You can chase this TIE for as long as you need. He ran the numbers down in his head. Will it dodge this way or that? He broke to port, so will he break to starboard next? No, they need to get at the cruiser. The only way to get a proper shot at the _Avenger_ was to take out Red Flight. That meant the defender would turn back on him.

Indeed it did, and now it made a beeline straight for him. The distance counter ticked down again. Laser lock.

Vigil fired. So did the defender.

His cockpit went opaque, awash with neon greens and blues as the TIE downed his shields with a blast from its ion and laser cannons. Dimly, he remembered seeing the cruiser's radar signature drop out of system—a successful hyperspace jump.

KILL CONFIRMED, his droid bleated. It pulled up a rear camera view of the defender and sure enough, it had become a rapidly expanding cloud of gas, metal, and shattered dreams. One down. Three left. He climbed to rejoin the rest of the furball.

'Red One to Flight, the cruiser's gone. Omega. I say again, omega signal. Go.'

His sensor board's squad icons flickered twice—the shorthand signal for an affirmative. Vigil needed a way to distract the enemy TIEs somehow. He turned his craft in a gentle arc around the furball's perimeter to get all three of them in his forward view.

'R2, can you slice the targeting systems? I need a missile lock on all three of those defenders.'

The droid trilled in protest.

'Yes, I know I'm out of ordnance. I just need to distract them so the others have a shot at disengaging.'

Vigil's only gripe with the T-65 X-wing was its inability to achieve a lock on more than two targets due to its two torpedo tubes. He dearly wished that Red Flight had been equipped with newer XJ models instead. At least those could lock onto three targets, thanks to the third torpedo launcher. The droid responded with a long, drooping tone, a sort of electronic sigh. The ruse worked. As the lock tone sounded, the three TIEs immediately broke off to evade their apparent pursuers. It only worked for a moment, but it was enough for Red Flight to form up and fly off, and for Vigil to distract them with a few inaccurate laser blasts. He sped past the TIEs, wiggling his wings to taunt them for good measure. The TIEs took the bait and almost immediately entered torpedo range. _Three_ torpedo lock alarms blared in his ear. This was going to be one short distraction. For the third time this mission, Vigil wrenched the stick in an effort to pull the tightest turn he could possibly manage. He didn't even finish the turn before the TIEs launched their torpedoes.

The stars went dark, as did Vigil's instrument panel. His simulator pod disengaged its locks and opened, the harsh light of the sim room blinding at first. Seconds later, his flight mates dragged him bodily from the pod and clapped him on the back.

'What's going on?' he asked, still jittery from the adrenaline high of combat. 'How'd the run go?'

'We made it out moments before the defenders vaped you,' Nodra said. His blue-skinned face split into a grin. 'A seventy-five percent success rate—'

'—is still pretty mediocre,' Vigil grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

'We were flying old T-65s against trips,' Rosharra said, using the Alliance pilot slang term for the TIE defender. Rosharra was a mountain of fur and muscle, quite possibly the largest member of the trainee class, as befitting of her species. She was a Wookiee—a small one compared to the rest of her species, but large enough to have a bit of trouble fitting into a cockpit. Having spent much of her life as a spacer, her Shyriwook accent was far less incomprehensible than those of her Kashyyyk-bound kin, at least to Vigil's untrained ears. 'It's a wonder we only lost one out of four.'

'Point, Rosh,' he said. 'I guess we won't really know how well we did until we hear from the boss.'

Ninety straightened suddenly, saluting as the sim room's door slid open with a hiss. The droid's body was slim and minimalistic, all dark gray and black with an elongated cylinder for a head. His three red optical units whirred and clicked idly as they refocused and adjusted to the lighting of the sim chamber. 'Exclamation: Commander on deck!'

The rest of Red Flight quickly followed suit, putting on expressions of calm neutrality.

'Commander Antilles,' Vigil said, clearing his throat. 'How did we do?'

Syal Antilles consulted the datapad in her hand, brushing an errant lock of blonde hair out of her face. She was young, about the same age her father was when he rebuilt Rogue Squadron forty years ago to hunt for Ysanne Isard. How fitting, then, that the mantle of Rogue Leader fell to her now. She wore a TIE pilot's uniform. No doubt, she had been in one of the trips flying against them during the sim.

'Not too bad, actually. Good kills right off the bat,' she said. 'Nice use of torpedoes from Vigil and two good kill-shots from IG-90. Your TIE kills were academic—no flaws I could see there. Red One, those were some good leadership skills. You'll make a commendable flight leader. Overall, I'd say you guys flew quite well.'

'Query: Well enough to make the cut?'

Antilles shrugged. 'We'll see about that, Flight Officer. For now, you four should get some downtime at the cantina. You've earned it. I'll release my final selections later today.'

* * *

Syal Antilles took a seat at the officers' mess alongside the other TIE pilots present during the training period. 'What do you think?' she asked them as she placed the datapad on the table.

The one seated closest to her sipped from a cup of caf. His deep blue skin and deep red eyes made his heritage immediately apparent, and his rank pins made him Syal's equal. He was Rogue Squadron's second-in-command by virtue of being Syal's junior. The Chiss known as Retta'res'hnuruodo paused to consider his words before speaking up.

'I'd say this crop has promise. Good scores and performance all around and there's a general sense of camaraderie. One of them even managed to shoot Major Klivian down—Lieutenant Vigil, I think his name was. Their lack of combat experience, however, makes me skeptical.'

Syal nodded grimly. 'You know the circumstances, Aresh. We were lucky enough to get the green light to reform the Rogues after the war. Asking for more veterans to transfer in is pushing our luck.'

'What about the pre-Centerpoint Rogues? They've got experience. We could have used them to form this generation's backbone.'

The third person seated at the table shook his head. His short brown hair and perpetually youthful features belied his advanced age. Major Wes Janson had been one of the first Rogues. Indeed, during the Battle of Hoth, Janson had been Wedge Antilles' rear gunner. He and Syal's father have been good friends ever since. Wes picked the datapad up and began to fiddle with it. 'It wouldn't have worked. Regardless of what you think of them, the political implications of keeping them around would have been a PR nightmare for the brass.'

'He's right,' replied the fourth, one Major Hobbie Klivian. Hobbie was another member of the old guard, having joined the Rebel Alliance alongside the late Biggs Darklighter. Unlike Wes, Hobbie had aged enough to prove it with care lines and graying hair. He also had a bit of a gut, though he hated to admit it. 'It's better, politically speaking, to start from a clean slate. And as we all know—'

'Politics beats practicality,' they chorused.

Aresh checked his watch. 'It's been a while. Think it's time to announce the graduating class?'

Syal stood and retrieved the datapad from Wes. 'Yeah. Let's go.'

Wes and Hobbie stood up, knowing smirks on their faces. What were they so smug about?

Wes yawned and stretched dramatically. 'As much as I love warlord hunts, I think I'll get back to work on the show. Our first season's premiering in a few weeks.'

Hobbie rolled his eyes. 'And _I _have to make sure he doesn't offend our audience too much.'

The two veterans made for the door. Wes had just turned the corner when he poked his head back into the doorframe.

'Oh, and Syal, check the datapad. Left a present for you.'

She did. Wes' present was a doodle of a very angry Ewok in Alliance pilot gear. Below the Ewok were words which read: 'Yub yub, Commander.'

'Really, Uncle Wes?'

'Yub yub, Commander. And that's _Major_ Uncle Wes to you, missy.'

She glared at Hobbie. 'Uncle Hobbie, I thought you'd be able to get his emotional age up to maybe twelve or thirteen.'

Hobbie feigned deafness and hurried out, much to her chagrin. Wes followed suit, whistling loudly all the while. Syal turned to Aresh.

'Well, Aresh? Shall we ruin their break time?'

'Yub yub, Commander.'


	3. 2: Tiger Claw

2

Tiger Claw

Well, that was an awfully short break. Vigil's flight group took their seats in Borleias Base's briefing amphitheater along with six other pilots. No doubt about it, Vigil thought, we're the graduating class. Commander Antilles and her second-in-command, Aresh, waited for everyone to get settled before they began. They were quite a varied crowd. In the back sat a rather nervous Mirialan, quite visibly younger than almost everyone else in the room. Vigil recognized two of the other Human graduates as Jon Windspeaker and Kaz Beiner. One hailed from sunny Tatooine and had the tanned skin to prove it. Beiner, on the other hand, had the facial features characteristic of a Sluis Van native. Vigil also noticed a third human sitting apart from everyone else. The man's slicked back hair and thick mustache reminded him of a famous singer back on Corellia. The last to arrive were a Twi'lek and a Sullustan. Well, at least the media wouldn't complain about racial diversity.

'Hello, hello, ladies and gentlemen,' said Syal Antilles. 'Before we get started, give yourselves a pat on the back. You're all _proper_ Rogues now. I'm sure you all think this is a bit abrupt. Most of you probably didn't have enough time to trade backstories with one another, but we're on a bit of a tight schedule. In a few hours, we're set to board the _Tiger Claw_, a brand new MC100 fresh off the production line. We're going hunting, boys and girls, and our target is Natasi Daala.'

One of the Rogues, a Mirialan, raised her hand. 'Do we have our X-wings yet, Commander?'

Aresh nodded and pulled up a diagram of Rogue Squadron's favorite starfighter on the holo-projector. 'We do, Flight Officer Maros. As expected, we'll be flying XJ-7 models, factory standard. You'll have time to make personal adjustments once we're aboard the _Claw_. Don't get too comfy with the XJs, however. I expect you all to put in sim time for every single fighter the Galactic Alliance has on frontline duty. You never know when you might have to make do with something different.'

'Now,' said Antilles, 'on to flight assignments. I'll be in command of One Flight. Rogue Two will be Flight Officer Maros. Three and Four will be Windspeaker and Beiner.'

Maros seemed quite pleased with the assignment. She probably was unaware of the Rogue tradition of assigning the newest or weakest pilot to be Rogue Leader's wingman. Beiner and Windspeaker merely nodded. The two of them hadn't gotten acquainted just yet.

'Two Flight will be under Lieutenant Vigil's command,' Antilles continued. 'IG-90, you're Rogue Six, Vigil's wing. Nodra, you're Rogue Seven, and Rosharra, you're Eight. I'd hate to break up our training class' top performing flight team.'

Rosharra roared in approval. Vigil and Nodra shared a congratulatory fist bump.

'Three Flight is under Commander Aresh, Rogue Nine. Rogue Ten will be Lieutenant Bulsara. Eleven is Lieutenant Tur'in'akar, and Twelve will be Flight Officer Sund.'

Bulsara remained silent. Out of the applicants, he was the most mysterious. From what Syal observed, the man hadn't really gotten to know his fellow aspirants. He was a team player in the simulator runs, but outside of it, he had been a bit of a loner. Tur'in'akar, a muscular and broad-shouldered Twi'lek, had gotten along quite nicely with his diminutive Sullustan wingman, however. He and Sund would work well together.

'But before you get too cocky,' announced Syal, 'just let me remind you of something. You may be Rogues, and you may be among the best and brightest the Alliance has to offer, but we're Rogue Squadron for a reason. We'll get the toughest, most dangerous missions in the book and I can't guarantee that any of us will come out alive. Statistically, about fifty percent of Rogue Squadron's past members failed to survive their first five missions. If any of you wish to leave now, you are free to do so with a clean conscience. None of us will judge you for opting out.'

The room was silent for a moment. Syal's disclaimer had certainly put a damper on their festive moods. None, however, budged from their seats. She would have liked to say they all had expressions of grim determination. Some, like Maros and Beiner, looked nervous and skittish—understandable, since they were fresh from Academy. Many of the more experienced pilots like Vigil, Nodra, and Windspeaker were impatient, shifting and tapping their toes, ready to to fly and fight at a moment's notice. Syal hoped she wasn't in the first category. Landing the job of leading a new generation of Rogues was no mean feat, and keeping it would be even tougher. She had a legacy to live up to, a legacy full of larger-than-life heroes. Luke Skywalker. Garven Dreis. Biggs Darklighter. Her father. She hoped she was up to the task. She hoped they all were.

* * *

In the heavens above Borleias, a great fleet of warships waited. Nebulon-B frigates and Corellian corvettes, arranged in a wedge formation, made up the vanguard of the fleet. Behind them was a bevy of heavier cruisers, carriers, and destroyers backed up by squadrons of starfighters. Those ships, however, paled in comparison to their flagship, an MC100 Star Cruiser. Utterly massive, the MC100 nevertheless maintained the grace and beauty of its Mon Calamari-designed predecessors. Its organic, gentle curves and aesthetically pleasing design belied its lethality. Its hull bristled with dozens of turbolaser and ion cannon batteries, multi-purpose warhead launchers, and tractor beam projectors. The _Tiger Claw_ was one of the mightiest capital ships in the Alliance Navy and in the sunlight of Borleias' star system, she cut an awe-inspiring figure.

The bridge of the _Tiger Claw_ was abuzz with activity. Bridge officers scurried to and fro, barking orders and making last-minute checks. They were eager. A month-long maiden cruise around the Core Worlds was fine and dandy for public relations, but the crew had gotten restless. They had signed up to man one of the newest and most powerful warships in the Galactic Alliance Navy, and by the Force, they were going to make this ship worth the money. Hopefully, if all went well, they would taste their first combat action shortly.

'Engineering reports unusual power fluctuations in conduits aurek through c—'

'Starboard turbolaser decks report all weapons optim—'

'—engines all green and running at full capacity—'

General Wedge Antilles ignored the noise and the chatter. His subordinates knew what they were doing. In the meantime, he had to busy himself with something more in line with his specialty. He stood before a hololith table, above which floated an image of the galaxy. Across the outer rim, dozens of bright red dots glowed like tiny embers, as if to symbolize the worlds and systems that burned under the Maw Irregular Fleet's advance. Admiral Natasi Daala, former Alliance head of state, was on the move again. Her Maw Irregular Fleet, a coalition of mercenaries, scum, and former Imperial soldiers, raided, pillaged, and looted their way across the Rim. His job was simple: to lead the fleet that would put Daala down once and for all.

'Just another day at the office, eh, Wedge?' To his right, a man in the robes of the Jedi Order studied the galactic map, scratching idly at the stubble on his chin. At his hip hung an old lightsaber, lovingly kept and hand-crafted, built ages ago during the first Galactic Civil War. Wedge almost missed those simpler times.

Wedge chuckled. 'You tell me, Luke. I'm just a soldier. You're the one who usually leads the charge to save the galaxy.'

Luke Skywalker, Grand Master of the Jedi Order, gave his old friend a warm smile. 'A soldier is exactly the kind of man we need leading this campaign. You've got this, Wedge. You're the most qualified man I know.'

'How hard could it be, right? I mean, after Isard and Zsinj, Daala should be just like old times,' Wedge muttered.

'It's Myri and Syal, isn't it? You're worried about them.'

'Like you wouldn't believe.'

Luke put a hand on Wedge's shoulder. 'They're grown up, Wedge. They can take care of themselves. You can trust the Rogues and the Wraiths to keep them safe.'

Wedge sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of his rank and years settling on his shoulders. 'You're right. Let's get down to business, then. Any word from the Empire? How are they handling their end of this fight?'

Luke frowned. 'I managed to get in touch with Emperor Fel. He's working to muster a proper battlefleet, but it'll take some time. Fel didn't get any more specific than that, so we'll have to assume we're on our own.'

'The Moffs are at it again, huh? Alright, then,' said Wedge. 'What can—'

'General,' said one of the bridge officers. 'Incoming starfighter squadron. The Rogues are here, sir.'

'Right on time. Tell them to dock at starboard hangar five, lieutenant.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

Wedge tapped a few buttons on the hololith, replacing the galactic map with a diagnostic readout of the ship.

'Alright,' he said, 'let's get all this last-minute crap done quickly. I'm ready for a fight.'

* * *

Nodra screamed as something small and hirsute latched onto his face. Vigil, Ninety, and Rosharra drew their blasters as the Duros dislodged his furry attacker and hurled it against the wall.

'Observation: Target is inanimate. It appears to be a stuffed Ewok.'

'Ooh,' said a voice from behind them, 'looks like Lieutenant Kettch decided to say hello.'

Nodra turned to the source of the voice. He looked at her, aghast, then turned back to the Ewok, then back to her. 'That was in my footlocker. That. Was in. My footlocker. _Why was that there?'_

The girl, dressed in unmarked commando fatigues, shrugged. 'Kettch likes to hide in things sometimes. There's a lot of places to do that on this ship.'

At that moment, Commander Antilles appeared, blaster in hand, still chewing on the last bite of her dinner. 'Whumph gon' on hrr?'

Nodra had turned an incandescent shade of teal. 'Just—Ewok—trap and—'

Syal gulped down her food and glared at the commando. 'Myri, would you at least give my pilots some time to get settled in before you give them the Wraith Squadron hello?'

'Yub yub, Commander,' chorused the Wraiths further down the hall.

* * *

'General, engineering reports hyperdrive is fully charged. We're ready to jump to hyperspace on your orders.'

Wedge settled into his command seat, his expression the very definition of calm. 'Make it so, Lieutenant. Let's get this hunt started.'


	4. 3: Baptism by Fire

3

Baptism by Fire

Aboard the bridge of the cruiser _Halberd_, Captain Bassard grew increasingly irritated by the second. He drummed his fingers on his command chair's armrest, only half-listening to the groveling and pleas he heard over the holocomm.

'Please, Captain,' begged the planetary governor, 'you must give us more time! Our factories and industry have always been diligent in their work! We will have our tribute by the deadline your Admiral arr—'

'And I am telling you,' Bassard said, 'that the deadline has been changed. Admiral Daala told you two months in advance that she would be increasing the tithe requirements, governor.'

'B-but,' the other stammered, 'we cannot possibly meet your requirements today! We have barely produced more than half the materiel you demanded!'

Bassard rolled his eyes. 'Well, that isn't my problem, now is it?' He turned to his gunnery officer. 'Ready our weapons for planetary bombardment. Aim for the capital. If we're lucky, we'll kill the governor and replace him with someone who actually has some backbone.'

The gunnery officer replied with a curt affirmative and began calculating firing solutions at his console. Just then, the ship's sensors picked up something new.

'Sir,' yelled the sensors officer, 'we've got twelve new signatures coming out of hyperspace, starfighter-sized! They're setting a course straight for us! Silhouettes match those of X-wing starfighters!'

Bassard cursed. 'Belay the bombardment orders, Lieutenant Tarmas.' He activated the ship's PA system. 'Attention all crew, we have incoming enemy fighters. Battle stations. I say again, battle stations.'

So, it seemed the governor was merely stalling for time. Bassard grinned predatorily. Well, this prey still had teeth.

* * *

Syal Antilles set her X-wing's strike foils to attack position. 'There it is, boys and girls. Telares IV. Call targets as you see them.'

'Four to Rogues, I tally one _Republic_-class cruiser over the planet, moving to intercept. Looks like they've seen us.'

'Noted, Four,' Syal said, 'I'm also getting twelve smaller signatures . Starfighters, Mandalorian Dunelizards.'

Just then, the enemy fighters relayed their greetings on an open channel. 'Attention, Galactic Alliance _di'kute_, you're outgunned and outnumbered. If you're smart, you'll turn back now.'

'Funny,' Vigil said on the squad channel, 'aren't we the guys with proton torpedoes?'

Why were Mandalorians always so full of themselves? Syal switched to open comms. 'That's cute, Mando boy, but that cruiser still only counts as one. Let's dance.'

With that, she cut the open channel and pushed discretionary power into acceleration and forward shields. As her distance counter ticked down, she switched to proton torpedoes. Stock Dunelizards were armed with nothing more than a pair of medium laser cannons. The XJ-7 had four laser cannons and nine proton torpedoes. Syal almost felt sorry for these overconfident mercenaries. Almost.

Syal heard the ping of a targeting lock as she bracketed the lead fighter. She pulled the trigger. The other Rogues followed suit against their own targets. A dozen streaks of blue light speared forth from the X-wings' ordnance tubes. Almost immediately, the Mandalorian fighters broke formation to evade the incoming torpedoes. Despite their efforts, however, four of the Dunelizards blinked out of existence on her sensors. The remainder reformed and prepared for a head-to-head. Syal switched to lasers and as the two fighter formations closed in, she put the central fighter on her targeting brackets and fired the instant she hit maximum laser range. Four bolts of scarlet light speared into the lead Dunelizard, blowing it into a cloud of rapidly dissipating debris. The squadrons passed and the head-to-head was over. Three enemy fighters remained functional and only one remained undamaged.

'Three Flight,' Syal said into the comm, 'mop up the fighters. One Flight, Two Flight, push on. We'll hit the cruiser.'

* * *

The _Halberd_'s bridge rang with the sounds of blaring klaxons. Alarm notifications for hull punctures, shield failures, engine breakdowns, and weapon malfunctions ran down the length of the diagnostic hologram before Captain Bassard's eyes.

'Port side shields down!'

'We've lost turbolaser batteries ten through fifteen!'

'Engines are nonfunctional, heavy proton torpedo damage!'

Bassard slammed his fist down on his armrest. 'Would someone, _someone_ get me weapons? It's twelve fighters, damn you! It's just twelve fighters!'

'Trying, sir,' yelled his gunnery officer, 'but hitting these fighters is easier said than d—'

The lieutenant never got to finish his sentence. Bassard drew his sidearm and shot Lieutenant Tarmas. With a grunt of effort, the captain heaved the corpse aside and took his seat at the weapons console. A few commands later, and he had slaved one of the ship's surviving quad lasers to the console's controls.

* * *

An explosion rocked Rogue Four's starfighter. 'Sithspit, I'm hit!'

Rogue Three pulled up behind his stricken wingman. 'Four, your top starboard foil and engine are slagged. I'm seeing smoke and fire as well.'

Beiner's voice sounded ragged as he fought to retain control of his fighter. 'My astro's still functional. Running damage control now. I'm still fully combat capable.'

Windspeaker shook his head. 'Alright, Four, but take it easy. I'll take the lead on our next run.'

As Rogues Three and Four pulled away from their craft, they inverted and looped back to strafe it again. The ship was falling apart, great gouts of flame erupting from ruptured hull, its lasers firing in staggered bursts like the last, blood-crazed swipes of a mortally wounded krayt dragon. Windspeaker locked onto the cruiser again and armed his last two torpedoes. It would do no good to fire at maximum range, as the torps would just travel straight for the closest piece of the cruiser. He closed in to ensure that the torps' path took them straight to his target: the starboard turbolaser banks. At one kilometer, he loosed his last two torpedoes and pulled up. Seconds later, Beiner did the same.

'Good shot, Four,' Three said as he checked his astromech's camera link. 'I'm seeing lots of secondaries. Nothing's coming out of those guns again.'

'Thanks, Three. Let's turn back and double-tap just to make sure, eh?'

* * *

Aresh cut his throttle down to fifty percent, slowing his pursuit as the Dunelizard turned suddenly. The enemy fighter broke to starboard. If the pilot was any good, he would try to force the faster X-wing to overshoot, thereby gaining the momentary advantage. Rogue Nine would make sure that never happened. He matched the Dunelizard's path every step of the way, pulling a turn tighter than the Mandalorian fighter could manage. For a brief instant, the fighter's cockpit flashed into Aresh's targeting brackets. He pulled the trigger. The four laser bolts skewered the Dunelizard's cockpit and blew out the other side. Bereft of its pilot, the fighter flew straight on, dead in the void. To his X-wing's port side, Aresh saw an explosion.

'Well done, Ten,' he said. 'Eleven, Twelve, how are you two doing?'

'Target vaped, Nine,' Sund said. 'That's the last of the enemy fighters.'

'Good,' Aresh said. He turned his fighter on its wing and made for the embattled cruiser. 'Now let's see if we can get a slice of the big one.'

* * *

Vigil unloaded his last torpedo on one of the _Halberd_'s quad turrets and switched to lasers, strafing the cruiser's hull plating. He cut his speed and fired as quickly as his cannons could cycle, slagging a number of the ship's broadside turbolasers as he passed. One of his missed its mark, however, and merely grazed one of the quad turrets. In slow motion, he saw it traverse and bracket him. He was too close to it to dodge and his shield levels were fare from adequate for blocking the shot. And then the next instant, it erupted into a ball of flame as his wingman landed a killing shot.

'Thanks, Six, I owe you for that.'

'Statement: No problem, Five.'

'Two Flight, sitrep.'

'Seven here,' Nodra responded, 'all functional. Guns on our end are silenced.'

'Five, Eight,' Rosharra grunted, 'still flying. Took a hit that fused my torpedo tubes shut, though.'

'Noted,' Vigil said. He switched to squad comms. 'Lead, Five. We've silenced the topside guns.'

'Acknowledged, Five. We've silenced the cruiser.'

Syal switched to an open comm channel. 'Attention, _Republic_-class cruiser, this is Rogue Squadron, your weapons have been silenced and you're falling apart at the seams. Are you ready to surrender, yet?'

'This is Captain Bassard of the Maw Irregular Fleet.' The man on the other end of the line sounded positively furious. 'Try harder, Rogue Squadron. I can still take you d—_hurk!_'

'This is, uh, Lieutenant Seinman of the Maw Irregular Fleet. The captain has been, er, silenced.'

Syal raised an eyebrow. 'Oh? Are _you_ prepared to issue your ship's surrender, Lieutenant?'

'Yes, Rogue Squadron, I am. We stand down. Just try not to damage this ship any further, please. We prefer keeping our squishy bits intact.'

* * *

While the _Tiger Claw_ sent transport shuttles to retrieve the crew of the _Halberd_, Rogue Squadron descended towards Telares IV's surface to rendezvous with its governor. From orbit, it was a pretty blue-green gem of a world with tropical rainforests along the equator. Surrounding the planet were a number of small space docks linked to the planet by orbital elevators near its largest cities. At higher latitudes, the rainforests gave way to temperate woods, space age-level industry, and sprawling mountain ranges. As the twelve X-wings entered atmosphere, they caught sights of factory complexes and starscrapers, still new and shiny. The planet had the marks of a nascent industrial power here in the Outer Rim. Curiously, Syal saw little in the way of surface-to-orbit defenses or military installations. No wonder Daala wanted this planet. It was defenseless, progressive, and on the road to further development.

The Rogues arrived above their designated landing pad to a gigantic fanfare. Confetti, colorful banners, and cheering crowds met the twelve X-wings as if they were angels of salvation.

'Lead to Rogues, try to be diplomatic here.'

'Query,' droned IG-90, 'being diplomatic means saying something soothing as you pull the trigger, right?'

'Seven here,' said Nodra, 'isn't this a bit ostentatious? I mean, it was just one cruiser and a squadron of jumped up mercs.'

'Just smile, wave, and be handsome, Seven,' replied Tur'in'akar. 'Just save the pretty ones for me.'

'Professional remarks only. And no booze, Rogues. We're still on the job until the General says otherwise.'

_That_ got groans from most of her organic squad mates. For the sake of decorum, Syal decided to forego her usual post-flight checks and instructed her astromech to do the job for her. She hit the cockpit release and tucked her helmet under her arm. One Flight landed behind her, forming a neat diamond formation that the other two flights mimicked to either side. The capital city of Telares IV was in the planet's southern temperate zone. Even through their insulated flight suits, some of the Rogues shivered in the planet's autumnal breeze. Many of the natives wore furs, heavy coats, and multiple layers of colorful underclothes. Some wore blasters at their hips, but the designs looked cheap and archaic. The planetary governor himself arrived in an outdated personal shuttle model, one that had been in use long before the Clone Wars. While it was well kept and ostentatiously decorated, there was no doubt that even this frontier world's aristocracy did not have the technological amenities of the Mid Rim or Core Worlds. Syal motioned for the Rogues to form up in a line to either side of her as the shuttle's boarding ramp opened. The cheers from the women got noticeably louder when Tur'in'akar dismounted and removed his helmet. Syal didn't blame them. The man was hologenic-square-jawed, broad-shouldered, and muscular, the Twi'lek looked equally at home in a fighter and on a poster.

Out stepped a sextet of personal bodyguards, clad in energy-damping cloth and plate, wielding more modern-looking blaster rifles. None of them looked like they'd seen combat, let alone the kind experienced by Galactic Alliance commandos or Imperial stormtroopers. Well, at least they went about things professionally. Satisfied that the area was safe, one of them muttered a command on his comm. The governor, flanked by two more bodyguards, stepped forth to meet his planet's saviors. Telares IV's planetary ruler was a lanky, hunched, beleaguered old human male, aged and balding prematurely due to worry and stress. He shook Syal's hand energetically.

'On behalf of Telares IV, thank you, young lady. For chasing off those dreadful raiders, my people and I are in your debt. Please, miss, tell me your name, that my people will know who drove the pirates away.'

Syal gave the governor a warm smile. 'Commander Syal Antilles of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances. These men and women with me are Rogue Squadron. And there's no need to thank us, governor. We're only doing our jobs. We're here to bring order back to the Outer Rim.'

'But please, accept my thanks nonetheless, Commander Antilles. My people do not have the experience or equipment necessary to fight off invaders. Your timely arrival saved many lives here today. I fear the captain of the _Halberd_ would have bombarded or strafed us had our talks soured any further.'

Syal bowed with a flourish. 'That's what Rogue Squadron is for, governor. Now, if you'll excuse me, we need to return to the fleet.'

Telares IV's governor frowned. 'Oh, won't you at least let us honor you with a bit of a feast? A soiree of sorts?'

'Duty calls, governor. The Rim's a big place, and we have a lot of fires to put out.'

'Very well, Commander Antilles. May fortune smile upon you. And send your superiors my thanks as well, please.'

'And you as well,' Syal said. As if on cue, the other Rogues bowed and broke formation to mount their fighters again. Before she closed her cockpit, she gave the crowd a salute and a smile.

'Huh,' Vigil said on squad comms. 'Nobody died.'

'What,' Leda replied, 'were you hoping for a few casualties?'

'Pass, Two. Any mission we all walk away from is a good mission.'

And with that, the Rogues took off, rising up again into space.

'Rogue Leader to _Tiger Claw_,' Syal said as she activated long-range comms, 'Telares IV expresses its gratitude. Are we cleared to head home?'

* * *

Wedge smiled to himself. To most listeners, Syal's message rang with the signature Antilles calm. Wedge, however, easily caught the smile behind it all. Everyone was coming back safe and sound from this mission.

'_Claw_ to Rogues, head on back to the nest. Good job out there. _Tiger Claw_ out.'

He cut the channel and turned back to the initial reports the _Halberd_'s surviving crew members provided. Durasteel, concussion missiles, and proton torpedoes—those were the most notable things Daala's ships demanded on a regular basis. Wedge understood the need to keep the Maw Irregular Fleet supplied, but then one of the bridge officers confessed that they'd moved the due date for tithes up. Daala was up to something, but until they had time to further interrogate the captured Maw crewmen, Wedge would be left in the dark. He hated being left in the dark.

'Daala's up to something,' Wedge said. 'Something is very, very wrong here.'

'Like you wouldn't believe, Wedge,' said Luke. The Jedi Master had been by his side on the bridge for the entirety of the campaign so far. Luke was a welcome presence, bringing with him an aura of calm wherever he went. Wedge didn't know whether it was the result of Force powers or just the sheer awe and respect Luke commanded, but he wasn't complaining. It was good to have a familiar face aboard. Idly, Wedge wondered what Tycho, Hobbie, and Wes were up to.

'Your sixth sense is tingling?'

'My sixth sense is tingling,' Luke confirmed. 'To repeat an old cliché, I sense a disturbance in the Force—a dark presence radiating from the Maw.'

Wedge raised an eyebrow. 'You think Daala's got something? A Sith artifact or weapon of sorts?'

Shrugging, Luke said, 'I don't know for sure yet, but it's big. Something ancient, evil, and hungry. There's more going on here than Naval Command thinks.'

'Well, I'm glad you're along for the ride, then. How's Ben doing?'

'He's getting antsy. So far, it's been nothing but patrols, recon, and void skirmishes. He's itching to get his boots on the ground.'

'I'm getting the same thing from the Wraiths. But I'm not sending our ground-pounders in blind. I want to do a bit more recon, capture a few more Maw officers and ships before we break out the big guns. If you're right about the Force, we'll need to know as much about Daala's plans and forces as possible before we face the Maw head-on.'

Luke nodded. 'And Daala only gives her most trusted captains access to the star routes to the inner Maw.'

The Maw Cluster was a hazardous slice of space filled with black holes, radiation, plasma, and strong gravitational forces. Only the most foolhardy, desperate, or knowledgeable ship crews dared to travel there, and even then, most rarely ventured beyond Kessel. Allegedly, Daala was the only one in the galaxy who had full knowledge of the safe routes into and out of the Maw due to her assignment there during the days of the old Galactic Empire. As a result, she had a nigh-impregnable position from which to send out raiders and pirates to terrorize the Outer Rim.

'Right you are. We'll probably only find those star maps on her bigger capital ships. We'll need to handle those carefully. If we face them conventionally, the captains might wipe the star maps from their ship computers' memories. I've got a plan for those, though.'

'The Hawkbat trick?'

'The Hawkbat trick. The moment we get a chance, I'll turn Ben and the Wraiths loose.'

'Good.' Luke turned to the ship's sensor readouts. 'Seems like the Rogues are back. Let's give them the news from the _Halberd_ crew, shall we?'


	5. 4: Awaken

4

Awaken

The Rogues gathered in the _Tiger Claw_'s briefing amphitheater, some still jittery from the adrenaline rush of combat. Wedge, Luke, Syal, and Aresh stood in the center by the hololith. Above them hovered a hologram of one of the _Halberd_'s surviving bridge officers, who had just divulged his report of his ship's mission. Millions of tonnes of titanium-reinforced alusteel, tens of thousands of concussion missiles, and a truly staggering amount of nonperishable food-those were the supplies Daala's men were tasked with bringing home.

'Good news, everyone!' exclaimed Aresh enthusiastically. 'Daala's building another superweapon!'

The entire room erupted into groans.

'Again?' complained Leda. 'But that's what _every_ Imperial warlord does! Can't we get something more original?'

Wedge snorted. 'Are you telling me you'd rather face off against a fleet of Missile Boats?'

'Yes,' chorused the Rogues.

Luke and Wedge exchanged worried looks.

'Just kidding,' said Aresh. 'Daala's building a Super Star Destroyer.'

That got sighs of relief. Some of the Rogues even whooped with joy.

'Sorry,' Leda interrupted, raising her hand, 'how can we tell that just from alusteel, missiles, and food?'

Syal tapped a button on the hololith, moving to another slide. This one displayed the specifications of an _Executor_-class Super Star Destroyer. 'First off, there's only one sort of project that comes to mind when we look at the scale of the shipments Daala's demanding from Telares IV alone-an SSD.'

Aresh moved to the next slide, which displayed charts and graphs of financial data from numerous shipyards. 'These,' he said, 'are subsidiaries of Kuat Drive Yards, Fondor Shipyards, and numerous arms corporations based in the Rim. If you'll notice, they've displayed record profits and outputs in the months since Daala was deposed from her position as Galactic Alliance Chief-of-State.'

The Mirialan began to put the facts together. 'So you think Daala's responsible for the jump in sales.'

'We're pretty much positive,' replied Wedge. 'Remember that the Maw's gotten bolder. It's sending ships further and further away from the nest, even those capital ships Daala's so loath to waste. That tells us she's got a higher influx of materiel to feed her war machine. Now we just need you Rogues to confirm our suspicions.'

'And you know what that means,' said Syal with forced cheer. 'Customs duty!'

More groans all around. That would mean spending hours upon hours patrolling sector shipping routes, scanning freighters, and waiting-not exactly the kind of work a Rogue signs up for. Nodra silently hoped that the Wraiths would have an even more boring task ahead of them.

* * *

Commander Voort 'Piggy' SaBinring hefted the lid off one of the crates laid out on the floor of the Wraiths' briefing room. As the Wraiths moved closer to get a better look, Trey Courser let out an appreciative whistle. Inside the crate lay a full suit of heavy battle armor, painted a dark green with a T-shaped visor, wrist-launchers, and a number of other knicknacks necessary for an aspiring hired gun.

'Oh yes,' Piggy said, 'that's proper Mandalorian _beskar_. Half of you will be wearing these while infiltrating the Maw's forces. The other half of us will be playing Hawkbat.'

'Pretty,' said Myri Antilles, 'what do we blow up first?'

* * *

Natasi Daala fought to keep her temper in check as she read the most recent reports from her raiding forces. She was, indeed, working on a Super Star Destroyer, and progress had gone swimmingly. However, the recent return of Rogue Squadron would undoubtedly bring all of that crashing down unless she put an end to it. She tapped a button on her desk's commlink and opened a channel to one of her officers.

'Colonel Yulan,' she said, 'what's the status of our mercenary forces?'

'Spirits remain high, Admiral, no doubt due to the steadiness and size of their paychecks. The news of the Galactic Alliance task force has made a number of them uneasy, but they'll work nonetheless.'

'They'd better, Colonel. I do not tolerate disobedience, even from scum as lowly as them.'

'Nor shall I, Admiral. I'll maintain discipline as necessary. Given the strength of the Alliance fleet, shall I put out a recruitment call?'

Daala paused for a moment to consider the option. 'Do it. We can always raid more systems if we fall short on funds. I'll allocate additional funds for your recruitment budget as well.'

'Thank you, Admiral. Is there anything else I can do for you?'

'Actually, yes,' Daala said, pulling up the image of a planet on her holo-projector. It was a white orb, almost entirely covered in ice save for the green spots that pockmarked its surface. 'Has there been any word from our Belsavis expedition yet?'

'One moment, please. Ah, here we go. Captain Saric claims that his team has made a successful insertion. He has a ground team already deployed and mapping out the prison block.'

A thin smile crept across the admiral's face. 'Good, good. I expect Saric to update us again shortly. Thank you, Colonel. That will be all.'

Daala cut the transmission and turned her attention back to the main task at hand. Antilles, Skywalker, _and_ the Rogues all here at once? Even if it did cost her billions, she had the chance to crush them all. She just needed a little more time to ready her trump cards. The Super Star Destroyer was just one piece of the machine. Aside from the package on Belsavis, she still had her puppet in the Empire. Then there was the artifact, a last resort but an effective one nonetheless, if her sources were correct. Daala poured herself a cup of coffee and swiveled in her chair, facing the starfield outside her study's window. The pieces were moving in this great galactic game. She would need to move hers carefully in the coming months.

* * *

The vault door opened with a deathly rasp, the ancient hydraulics and electronics protesting after an eternity of inactivity. For the first time in millennia, the footsteps of the living echoed in this lonely chamber beneath the surface of Belsavis. Water had begun to leak into this end of the maximum security block from the rainforest above, dripping into the puddles that had gathered on the worn floors. The first to enter were the mercenaries, considered little more than undisciplined cannon fodder. They were a varied bunch, some with nothing more than padded clothes and old rifles and others with uniforms, armor, and sophisticated optics and weaponry. Several had already fallen to the prison's myriad traps and automated defenses, many of which had stood the test of time. They had braved gas chambers, wall- and ceiling-mounted turrets, and a host of droid protectors. Though they neared the end of their search, they left nothing to chance.

Behind them were Daala's own Maw loyalists, those who could be trusted with enforcing discipline and seeing this mission through to its end. These men and women wore the stormtrooper armor of the old Galactic Empire and carried all the necessary equipment. And behind _them_ marched a band of technicians and slicers, who were tasked with cracking open the package that lay within.

The comm crackled as someone opened a channel. 'Vanguard to Maw,' said one of the mercenary soldiers, 'I think we've found your objective. Requesting you come up and confirm, over.'

Thumbing his commlink, the Maw sergeant in charge of the ground team replied, 'Vanguard, this is Maw One, we acknowledge. I'm on my way now.'

The sergeant pushed on ahead with his squad, hands held close to weapons in case things turned ugly. He motioned for a few of the technicians to follow him as well. What they found inside were carbonite units behind stasis fields that somehow still functioned despite the facilities' disrepair.

'Yep, this is definitely it,' the sergeant said. 'I want these stasis units disengaged shortly. The Admiral wants these prisoners freed as soon as possible.'

'Aye, sir,' said one of the technicians. Within a few minutes, the first of the stasis fields fizzled and dissipated. The lead tech proceeded to initiate the defrosting process. Soon, its occupant was free. The prisoner wore luxurious robes made of thick red and black fabric with golden pauldrons. He also wore an intricately carved mask, shaped into a stylized sharp-toothed skull. For a few seconds, not a single noise was made save for the prisoner's heavy breathing as he took in his first gulps of air in over three thousand years. Then one of the mercenaries dropped to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Then two, then three, then four. More and more of the intruders began to break down, clawing at their eyes, weeping, praying, and calling for loved ones. Lord Kharak rose to his feet, basking in the terror of the worms around him. With a single flick of the wrist, he drained them all with the Force, emitting a death field that engulfed the entirety of the prison complex. With another flick, he used the Force to destroy the delicate machinery holding his two inmates. He channeled the Force energies he'd collected into his older companions, infusing their atrophied senses and muscles with twisted life as they returned to the galaxy. It was only courtesy, after all. They had introduced him to the power of the Phobis device-it was natural that he would repay part of that debt with this trifling favor.

'AWAKEN, MY MASTERS!'

* * *

Captain Saric frowned as he listened to the noise coming in through his ship's comm systems. It was a hellish sound, continuous and high pitched. 'Comms, what in the blazes is that infernal noise?'

His communications officer stammered, 'Uh, we're, uh, unsure, sir. It's coming from pretty much every settlement on the surf-no, wait, it's spreading, sir.'

Saric was no rookie-he could tell when something was horribly wrong with the mission. 'Enhance the sound, then.'

The officer did, clearing up some of the static and the background noise of Belsavis' jungles. Then Saric wished that he hadn't issued that order. There was no mistaking it. That sound came from every living being on on the surface. The planet Belsavis screamed, and the Belsavis system screamed with it.


	6. 5: Blue Milk Run

5

Blue Milk Run

'I spy with my little eye something beginning with "s",' said Windspeaker.

'If it's something with the word "star" in it again, I'm going to shoot you,' deadpanned Leda.

Customs duty really was the most boring thing in the galaxy outside of a vacation on Agamar. They'd been tasked with patrolling one of the minor trade routes leading to the Maw Cluster, scanning shipments and navicomputer data. It was simultaneously mind-numbingly tedious and dangerous, as scanning a ship's contents required the Rogues to fly close enough to convoys' ships to shake hands with the pilots. If one of the freighters or escort ships decided to get uppity, there was little stopping them from taking a good chunk out of a Rogue's shields or hull with their point defense cannons. Even Syal began to feel the ennui coming on. Well, at least their shift was almost over. In another couple of hours, they would switch out with a flight of E-wings from High Flight Squadron and turn in for sleep and food.

'Three to Flight,' said Windspeaker on the comm, 'I'm reading another set of signatures jumping out of hyperspace. Bigger than the usual convoys, too.'

This news roused One Flight from its boredom. They formed up on Syal's X-wing and approached the new arrivals. As they closed in, the convoy's sensor signatures became clear enough to determine its composition: ten Action-series transports and a pair of bulbous mining freighters.

'Four,' Syal said, 'your turn.'

Beiner uttered an affirmative and pushed on ahead. 'Attention convoy, this is Rogue Squadron. You've entered Galactic Alliance space. Please halt and stand by for a cargo search.'

'Acknowledged, Rogue Squadron. This is Action VI transport _Bounty_. We've nothing to hide. You're cleared to approach.'

Sweat beaded on Beiner's forehead. While customs duty was boring, there was no doubt that here in the Outer Rim, it was a dangerous prospect. His X-wing had to move within two kilometers of each ship to get a proper reading of its contents and it was almost certain that these ships would be more heavily armed and armored than the vessels that plied the comparatively safe hyperlanes in the Core and Mid-Rim. This could be completely over the table—the Action series transports needed aftermarket armaments to survive in the lawless fringes of the Rim Worlds, so a blaster turret or four didn't seem out of place. Then again, this could be a trap. It was definitely a trap.

'Rogue Squadron,' said _Bounty's_ shipmaster, 'just a heads-up—our turrets are automated. We've silenced them. Pay no heed when they start tracking you.'

'That makes me feel so very safe, _Bounty_,' replied Beiner. He switched to the secure squad band. 'Leader, this is Four requesting you close in and watch my six. I get the feeling this is going to get hot really fast.'

'Four, Lead, acknowledged. Continue with the search.'

The first Action VI, _Bounty_, was clean. Beiner's R5 unit pulled up signatures of foodstuffs. Nothing immediately incriminating there. He pushed on ahead to the next ship in line, another Action VI, designate _Cornucopia_. The distance counter ticked down again. Beiner fought the urge to unload on the transport, but his finger hovered anxiously over the trigger on the stick.

His R5 unit bleated in alarm. He pushed all of his diversionary power to starboard shields as a quartet of green laser bolts pierced the transport's starboard armor plating, actually a façade which fell away the moment the fighter beneath opened fire.

'TIEs!' Beiner barked on the comm. 'Some of the transports are pocket carriers!'

'Admiral Daala sends her regards,' said _Bounty_'s shipmaster.

Surely enough, dozens of other TIEs broke away from four of the transports. They were curious models, their edges sharper and more pronounced than even those of the wickedly-shaped TIE Interceptors. The TIEs' solar wing panels even unfolded like X-wing strike foils. These were TIE Hunters, originally built primarily for Imperial Storm Commando units. In this day and age, they were out of production, their factories now put to use for more cost-efficient TIE fighters and interceptors. How did Daala manage to get her hands on such rare and expensive starships?

To make things worse, two of the other Action VI transports were actually _Interceptor-_class frigates, Action VI models heavily modified with torpedo launchers, turbolasers, and upgraded shields. Beiner cursed, turning his X-wing on its port wing and pulling away from the transports' kill zone. His shields plummeted, even as he pulled every trick and maneuver he knew to throw off the turrets' aim. Behind him, a pair of TIEs had broken formation to pursue him. The rest gunned straight for the other members of One Flight.

And then to further exacerbate things, the two mining vessels had replaced their spherical cargo holds with gravity well generators, preventing the Rogues from pulling off the most obvious answer to this situation.

Syal gritted her teeth. 'One Flight, prioritize the baby Interdictors.' She then punched a button on her instrument panel, activating the distress beacon temporarily mounted on her fighter. Hopefully, there would be Alliance forces in adjacent systems with the capacity to respond. The problem now was making sure they could survive long enough to either cripple the mining transports or hold out until reinforcements.

* * *

Aboard the _Tiger Claw_, Vigil punched the open button for the door to his flight group's billet, still half-dressed in his piloting gear. Two Flight had only just finished its customs shift when the distress call rang across the cruiser. Nodra was halfway to the refresher with a dataslate of _The Lusty Trandoshan Maid_ before his Corellian squadmate had burst in.

'Good gods, Vig, my first combat j—'

'Screw your combat jack,' Vigil breathed, 'One Flight's in trouble.'

The Duros tossed the dataslate over his shoulder, grabbed his flight gear from a peg on the wall and hurried out.

* * *

Syal vaped another TIE as it flashed into her crosshairs, taking Leda's pursuer out of the fight. So far, all of One Flight remained intact. Beiner had lost a strike foil and the connecting engine, but Syal had to trust Three to keep his wingman alive.

'This is Lead, I'm starting my attack run on one of the mining freighters. Two, you're my wing.'

Leda fell in behind Syal, arming her torpedoes and aiming right at one of the gravity well generators on the closest Interdictor. The gravity generators required a staggering amount of power, far more than would be safe for a mining freighter's power plant to supply. To even keep such things running, the ship had to sacrifice some of its other systems—shields and engines were usually the first to go. That made them easy pickings for torpedo-armed craft. As the two X-wings closed in, Syal fired her torpedoes. Leda did the same a split second later and let out a whoop as one of the freighter's starboard gravity well generators detonated in a great ball of fire. Continuing their attack run, Syal and Leda cut their throttles, switched to lasers and stitched fire along the surface of the next one behind it.

Syal's astromech, Spark, sent a message to her instrument panel: SECOND GENERATOR DESTROYED.

Despite this small victory, though, Syal knew that the only thing that could get them out of here alive would be reinforcements. There were simply too many guns and too many hostiles. Alone, One Flight would be overwhelmed by sheer volume of fire. Grazing shots from enemy lasers chipped away at her shields. A wingpair of TIEs tagged her with torpedo locks and fired. Syal accelerated, aiming for the nearest enemy ship, one of the pocket carriers. Moments before she collided with the Action VI, she yanked the stick up, climbing sharply, before twisting her fighter and diving. Her fighter's hull groaned with the stress of the maneuver and even through her inertial compensators, Syal felt the g-forces keenly. Behind her, the Action VI erupted into flame as the torpedoes impacted its hull.

'Three's taken an ion bolt!' Beiner exclaimed. 'Three's out of the fight!'

'Four, stay calm and stick close to him for as long as you can. Two, are you still with me?'

Leda's voice quavered as she spoke. Syal didn't blame her. 'Y-yes, Lead. I'm your wing.'

'No, change of plans. Support Three and Four. I'll try and hit the mining freighters on my own. Maybe I can bait some of the TIEs away from you guys, too.'

'But—'

'That's an order, Two.'

Well, here goes nothing, Syal thought to herself. Let's see that Antilles luck Uncle Tycho always talked about.

* * *

Booster Terrik sat up in his captain's chair, squinting at a disturbance on the _Errant Venture_'s sensor readouts.

'Harman, what's going on? Clear up that signal, would you?'

Booster's first mate barked an affirmative and complied. 'Looks like a distress signal, sir. It looks like Galactic Alliance co—'

'I know that!' Booster snapped. 'And I know that specific code, too. That's Rogue Squadron. Set up a hyperspace jump to the Rogues' signal.'

'Already on it, sir,' said Harman. 'I've also sent a signal to the rest of the crew to set up for combat.'

Booster grinned wolfishly. 'Good man. Let's go be the heroes, shall we?'

* * *

Spark shrieked in alarm. _IMPERIAL II_-CLASS STAR DESTROYER ENTERING SYSTEM.

Well, crap, Syal thought, I guess the old Antilles luck was _bad_ luck.

THE SHIP IDENTIFIES ITSELF AS THE _ERRANT VENTURE._

Oh. Never mind, then.

Syal heard a familiar and very, very welcome growl speak on an open comm channel. 'Looks like we got here just in the nick of time, eh, folks? What does that make us, Harman?'

'Big damn heroes, sir?' replied another.

'Ain't we just.'

1,600 meters of red-painted alusteel, ten turbolasers, and ten ion cannons bore down on the furball, tearing into the shields and hulls of the Actions and _Interceptor_-class frigates. Fighters began to deploy from the _Errant Venture_'s hangar bays. They were a ragtag mix of Uglies and old models like the Xg-1 Star Wing, but they were a welcome sight nonetheless.

Syal breathed a sigh of relief. '_Errant Venture_, this is Rogue Leader. Damn, are you a sight for sore eyes.'

'Syal? Syal Antilles?' Booster's smile was almost audible over the channel. 'I thought your dad taught you to stay out of trouble, young lady.'

Syal laughed. 'I'm a Rogue, Booster. Finding trouble is in the job description. One of my fighters got hit with an ion blast. Could you pull him in for a quick fix?'

'I'll see what I can do,' rumbled the old smuggler. 'Hopefully, these tractor beams are still operational.'

Syal pulled up alongside the lead formation of Booster's fighters and waggled her wings in greeting.

'Star Wing, those mining freighters are priority targets. Their cargo holds have been replaced with grav well generators. If you can hit those, we'll be golden.'

'Noted, Rogue Leader,' said a high-pitched voice, probably that of a Gand. 'We can handle the big ones from here. Just keep the TIEs off us.'

'Can do.' Syal switched channels to the squad band. 'Two, Four, the _Venture_'s pulling Three in for repairs. Form up on me as soon as he's clear.'

She pulled her X-wing in a tight arc away from the Star Wings and uglies and made for the nearest swarm of TIEs. A flight of Hunters turned to meet her in a head-to-head.

'Four on one odds,' Syal said,' just another day at the office, eh, Spark?'

The astromech's response tone started high then dropped in pitch, the closest equivalent to a sigh an R2 unit could make.

* * *

Two and Three Flights exited hyperspace mere seconds later, right on top of the furball. Behind it were the _Tiger Claw_ and a mix of frigates and corvettes, the most ships Wedge could pull together in the few moments he could spare. Countless more ships from the fleet were en route to respond, but Wedge couldn't wait for them, not while Rogues were in danger. Immediately, Vigil, Nodra, Rosharra, and IG-90 acquired their own targets and dove into the fray.

The TIE Hunters gunning for Syal jinked and sideslipped in an effort to break the new target locks.

'Rogue Nine, is that you?'

'Sorry we're late to the party, boss. We had to gather a few friends.'

'So did the bad guys, from the looks of it,' said Vigil.

* * *

At the system's edge, more Maw ships exited from hyperspace, no doubt reinforcing the ambushers now that their attack had gone awry. Two more _Republic_-class cruisers, four _Scimitar_-class frigates, and six _Crusader_-class corvettes had jumped in, disgorging strike craft and arranging themselves into combat formation.

'Sir,' said one of the _Tiger Claw_'s bridge officers, 'with these new arrivals, we're outnumbered.'

'But not outgunned,' said Wedge. 'Let's see what sort of teeth this ship has, shall we? Send High Flight, Anvil, and Razorback Squadrons to back up the Rogues. Have _Zero Gravitas_ and _Corona_ deal with the enemy corvettes, while our own CR-90s intercept incoming fighters. We'll deal with the _Scimitars _and _Republic_s. Full speed ahead, ladies and gentlemen. And someone get that ImpStar Deuce on the horn.'

While Wedge handled the details of command, Luke Skywalker took his own place on the bridge, sitting cross-legged on one of the bucket seats and channeling the Force. He reached out to the hearts and minds of every Alliance asset in the system, bolstering their fighting spirit and stamina with his own. Battle meditation was an old technique, a tried and true power that brought hope and strength to one's allies and, if one so chose, fear to his enemies. Of course, the expansion of one's consciousness also served a more mundane purpose.

* * *

_Dive now_, said a voice in her head. Instinctively, Syal complied, inadvertently dodging an ion blast from an incoming TIE Hunter. That was odd, Syal thought to herself. She could have sworn that the voice was-

_Syal, it's Uncle Luke. The TIE's still on you._

A mere instant later, Syal heard the tone of a hostile laser lock. She sideslipped to starboard, dodging a burst of green laser fire from her pursuer. Wait, how and what-

_Midichlorians, Syal. I'll explain later. Need to go run flight control for the others._

But-

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._

He hung up on her. How the hell does someone even do that? She shook her head and diverted her attention back to the furball. She cut her throttle and pulled hard on the stick into a tight koiogran turn. Bolts of energy flashed past her fighter and fizzed against her shields, turning her front viewport into a cloud of neon greens and blues. She twitched the stick slightly, centering her crosshairs on where she thought the TIE would be in the next second. Laser lock.

One more fighter down, and a whole lot more to go. Diverting power to shield recharge, Syal turned back from the edge of the furball and flew back into the thick of it.

* * *

Wedge studied the tactical display on the _Tiger Claw_'s bridge hololith, taking in the rapid real-time flow of data. Silently, he tapped out commands on the machine, rearranging his escort ships' formations to suit the flow of battle. Far out on his starboard flank, a CR-90, _Firelance,_ and a Nebulon-B, _Black Reef_, had pushed too far forward after destroying a pair of _Crusader_ corvettes. He set a waypoint on the spherical map and sent them the coordinates and an order to fall back. That would hopefully draw some of the enemy's ships or fighters out.

Daala's men fell for the feint. One of the _Republic_-class cruisers surged forward to fill the gap in the enemy formation along with a squadron of Scyk fighters. Wedge countered by pushing _Firelance_ up to deal with the fighters and draw the cruiser's fire. Then he sent a portion of his reserves, issuing orders for a squadron each of B-wings and E-wings to drop in on top of the cruiser. Meanwhile, the Rogues and Booster's uglies and Star Wings had taken care of the original ambush force and were now in hot pursuit of Daala's retreating TIEs. He ran the numbers, comparing fighter speed and acceleration and the distance between the two fighter groups. He frowned.

'Rogues,' he said on the comm, 'cancel your pursuit and hit the _Scimitar_ and _Republic_ cruisers. You won't catch up to them before they jump out of system.'

Syal responded in affirmative. Wedge saw the X-wings decelerate sharply, an indicator that they'd stopped their pursuit and now prepared for an attack run on the nearest _Scimitar_ frigate. Satisfied with the Rogues' predicament, Wedge switched frequencies to speak with the _Errant Venture_'s shipmaster.

'Booster, your fighters won't catch up to the TIEs in time.'

The old smuggler considered his options for a moment. 'I'll send my strike craft to back up the Rogues. Meanwhile, we'll tackle the surviving _Crusaders _and keep their guns away from the fighters.'

'Exactly what I was thinking, Booster. And thank you again for your support.'

'Any time, Wedge. We'll talk more about this later, eh? And bring the Rogues in as well.'

'Sure thing, Booster.'

Wedge looked back at the display. The battle was won. It was only a matter of minimizing casualties and damage now, but something else bothered him. TIE Hunters? Gravity well generators? Those were too rare, too expensive for a Rim warlord to spend so freely on a fight like this, and with so little support. Only the Empire had the money, infrastructure, and resources to do that, and the Empire had openly fought with the Maw Irregular Fleet on numerous occasions. Hunters were a rare breed, built solely for Imperial Storm Commandos and about as ubiquitous as the TIE Avenger or Royal Guard Interceptor. Gravity well generators were even more astronomically expensive to produce and field. An Imperial ally, perhaps? A raid on an Imperial arms cache or factory? The force arrayed here today only raised more questions in Wedge's mind. What other hidden resources did Daala have? Just how deep were her pockets?

Luke spoke up suddenly, reading the expression on his colleague's face. He didn't even need the Force to know what his old friend was thinking. 'I don't like this either, Wedge. The Empire needs to have a better idea of what's going on here.'

'I know.'


	7. 6: Pieces of the Puzzle

6

Pieces of the Puzzle

Unlike most Star Destroyers, _Errant Venture_ came with a considerable number of amenities thanks to the entrepreneurs who had set up shop. Wedge and Booster sat in a corner booth in one of the ship's cantinas. The Rogues had stopped by briefly for formalities and handshakes, but they hadn't stayed for long. As expected, Booster had gone for Whyren's Reserve. Wedge, meanwhile, had opted for a non-alcoholic fruit beverage-he couldn't afford to be buzzed in the event of an emergency.

'The news of the TIE Hunters has the Empire quite angry,' Wedge remarked.

Booster grunted, his voice thick with sarcasm. 'A Moff stealing supplies and funding pirate scum? How unexpected.' He punctuated his reply by downing the contents of his glass.

'Point,' said Wedge. 'Still, though, it's worrying. You can't just fish up a few squadrons of Hunters out of nowhere. Eyeballs and squints? Sure, those are easy enough to find, but acquiring rare fighters like the ones we faced today? That might be grounds for some actual concern there, Booster.'

The old smuggler considered the point for a moment, scratching idly at his chin. 'Maybe. But if I had a few more turbolasers on this thing, I might-'

'Look, Booster, I don't think I'm at liberty to-'

'Bantha fodder, Wedge. You're a general now, and I've got to protect my business interests. After the last war, my crew's been aching for some extra protection on this tub. Besides, I've even got the perfect excuse for you.'

Wedge raised a tired eyebrow. 'Shoot.'

Booster leaned in close, his eyes bright with a mischievous glint. 'Say my crew and I volunteered to help you out out of a legitimate need to protect our business interests here in the Rim. Of course, with our rather, erm, inadequate armament, you saw fit to restore some of _Venture_'s weapons and tractor beams to make sure we could survive the rigors of this glorious little warlord hunt you've got going, maybe even sent a few spare parts our w-'

A loud beep interrupted Booster's scheming. Wedge pulled a commlink from his pocket and activated it, apologizing to Booster as he stepped out of their booth.

'Go ahead,' he said into the receiver.

Luke's voice crackled as the commlink relayed his message. 'Wedge, we've got a situation. You're needed back at the ship.'

'Solid copy, Luke. I'm on my way.'

As Wedge ran off back to the _Tiger Claw_, Booster poked his head out of the cantina and yelled, 'Think about it, Wedge! We'll be a hell of a lot more useful if you give us some firepower!'

* * *

The space station was on fire and it wasn't their fault. Well, this time, anyway. Voort 'Piggy' SaBinring backtracked down to the Wraiths' escape vehicle as blaster fire whipped down its length. Shouldering a stolen E-Web, the Gamorrean let rip on full auto, cutting down a mob of mercenaries and Maw stormtroopers. Myri Antilles popped out from a nearby alcove and fired a burst to add to the wall of fire. Piggy rounded the corner and took cover as Daala's mercenaries returned fire.

'Flash out!' yelled Myri, raising her wrist launcher and firing a flash grenade. A second later, the detonation rang down the corridor, as did the disoriented yells of their mercenary pursuers. She followed up with a frag grenade and turned tail to run as Piggy covered her. Stopping to brace himself again, Piggy fired at the next wave of attackers. All but one were scythed down by the hail of blaster bolts. That last one wore a robe of black, red, and gold, and a mask carved in the shape of a stylized sharp-toothed skull. Lord Kharak chuckled darkly as he reveled in his newly returned vitality, deflecting every single shot that came at him.

Behind Piggy, the blast doors to their stolen ship's docking port slid open ever so slowly. In a vain effort to hold the Dread Master back, he kept firing. This was just ridiculous, he thought, how in Space does someone swing a lightsaber around _that_ quickly? Oh, right. Midichlorians._  
_

Slowly, Lord Kharak advanced, and slowly, the doors opened. Abruptly, Lord Kharak stopped in his tracks, winged by a sonic blast from the other side of the door. Huhunna roared as she fired a concussion rifle again and again at the Dread Master. The other Wraiths in the docking tube lent their support as well, opening up on the Dread Master. In response, Kharak reached out with the Force and hurled a forklift at them. In response to _that_, Huhunna shot him one last time and the Wraiths did what they did second-best: run away.

'You couldn't have gotten us anything faster?' Piggy asked, settling into the cockpit of a rickety old _Citadel-_class civilian cruiser.

'Nothing that would fit all of us,' replied Trey Courser, his arms buried up to their elbows in an opened instrument panel. 'Just give me a second to fix our navicomputer and we'll be able to make the jump to hyperspace.

'Noted,' Piggy grunted. 'Three, Five, get on the ion turrets. Hit the station's turbolaser arrays _now_, or we won't be leaving this station at all.'

Myri and Jesmin both barked affirmatives and made way to the ion cannons in the cruiser's aft section as their ship broke away from its docking tube. Piggy felt the ship vibrate slightly as the turrets went to work, disabling the station's defenses long enough for them to escape. By the time the Maw Irregular forces aboard the station scrambled fighters to intercept the Wraiths, they were long gone.

* * *

Old age was most definitely not fun, Wedge thought to himself as he reached the _Tiger Claw_'s bridge, huffing and panting. Luke waved him over to the holo-projector. A number of other officers gathered around the hololith as well. Commander Sara Konnair, Polearm Leader, saluted Wedge as he entered. The others followed suit soon after they noticed his arrival. Syal and Aresh, still in their flight gear, entered behind Wedge. Piggy, the Wraiths' commander, inserted a datachip into the hololith console. A hologram of the galaxy manifested above the projector with a series of dots and line segments clustered in a corner of the Outer Rim. Most of these locations were just a few hyperspace jumps away.

'General,' Piggy began, 'this is a star map, or rather, a piece of one. During our last mission, we managed to steal this from one of Daala's Star Destroyers while it was docked at one of her space stations. This one was assigned to patrol the following routes, highlighted in yellow. If you'll notice, this patrol route takes this Star Destroyer _to_ the Maw.'

'So if we capture more of those star maps,' Aresh muttered, 'we can piece them together to get a look at all of Daala's patrols and most of the potential routes into the Maw.'

'Correct,' Piggy replied. 'And about that, er, I have good news and bad news.'

'And the good news?' Captain Tomar asked.

'My team's extraction was, er, rather violent. Security is bound to increase after the Wraiths' little caper. By a lot. I'm not sure if we'll be able to play Hawkbat as easily anymore.'

Wedge sighed. 'Wonderful. Well, the point is that you guys got home safe. Good job on the find, Piggy. What's the bad?'

Piggy paused before speaking to make sure everyone was listening. 'Daala has at least one Force wielder on her payroll. Very nasty, very dark side. Also very dapper, but that's neither here nor there.'

'Oh,' said Luke. 'Oh dear.'

Wedge turned to his old friend and raised an eyebrow. 'Is this that disturbance you felt?'

'I'm almost certain,' the Jedi Master replied, his voice heavy with worry. 'And you know what that means.'

Captain Tomar nodded. 'I'll put in a requisition order for more concussion weaponry.'

'And Ben and I will take a quick field trip to Myrkr to pick up some ysalamiri,' Luke added.

'Are you sure, sir?' Tomar asked. 'I can just put in a requisition to Myrkr Base and-'

Luke waved it off, saying, 'It's alright, Captain. Something tells me Ben and I should be the ones to do it.' What he didn't tell them was that he'd met Mara on Myrkr so many years ago. It would be nice to enjoy a brief moment of nostalgia, to think about things other than war. And there was, in fact, a little sensation in the Force that nagged at him. Why was the Force pulling him there, of all places? And why did this feel so very contrived and convenient?


	8. 7: Somebody to Love

7

Somebody to Love

_The Maw Cluster was a hazardous region of space filled with black holes, void storms, pirates, and all manner of other unpleasant denizens and phenomena. Entrances were few and far between, all closely guarded by Daala's loyalists and elites. While mercenaries and third parties expanded her borders, Daala had concentrated most of her true followers in the systems and along the hyperlanes granting access to the slice of the Rim she called home. The Sonteg Route, named for the system in which it began, was one such hyperlane. Patrolled by the Maw's heaviest capital ships and dotted with heavily armed space stations, it was one of the lifelines through which Daala received the supplies to fuel her war machine and industry. The Sonteg Route was a minor economic footnote on the galactic scale (In fact, it was utterly absent from most hyperlane maps) but the Maw Campaign had made it into a key stepping stone on the road to victory._

_News of Daala's new Super Star Destroyer, weaponry, and allies had galvanized the rest of the galaxy into action. In both the Galactic Alliance and Empire, reinforcements rushed to the front lines to shore up their forces in the rim. General Wedge Antilles prepared his forces for a lightning strike on the Sonteg Route, hoping to deny Daala the resources provided by the Route's agri-worlds, shipyards, and minerals. The Sonteg System, however, was far too heavily defended for an immediate strike. The job of cracking its defenses open fell to Rogue and Wraith Squadrons. Meanwhile, Luke and Ben Skywalker traveled to Myrkr, where they would find more than mere ysalamiri._

_-Galaxy at War: A History of Conflict throughout the Ages, Vol. 107_

* * *

Luke and Ben Skywalker disembarked from their shuttle, setting foot once more on the surface of Myrkr. Alliance soldiers stationed at Myrkr Base's landing pad saluted both of them. Being cut off from the Force, even temporarily, was an unpleasant sensation for the two. The ysalamiri would prevent their powers from doing much more than annoying anything hostile on the ground. Of course, the Jedi of the modern age tended to be quite knowledgeable about the workings of blasters, vibroblades, explosives, and other practical things. Checking to ensure his lightsaber remained securely holstered, Luke led the way into Myrkr's forests, blaster drawn. The sounds of wildlife and nature were a nice change from the sterile hum of starship engines and the hustle and bustle of capital ship corridors.

'You said something in the Force drew you here?' Ben asked.

'Paradoxical, isn't it? I'm not sure why either, but Force hunches tend to be synonymous with important stuff.'

Ben snorted and followed, stepping over a particularly large root. His father had a point, to be honest. The Force rarely asked for blue milk runs or sent people on snipe hunts. The question was, where, exactly, were they going?

* * *

IG-90 adjusted the hat the Wraiths had given him. It was pure white, almost blindingly so to organic eyes. Fitted with a holographic disguise projector, Rogue Six was to be a member of the Rogue-Wraith team tasked with infiltrating the Maw's defenses in Sonteg. The Wraiths and the fleet's techs had also fitted Ninety with a host of other gadgets and upgrades which would come in handy for the task ahead. Ninety and the rest of the infiltration team stood in one of the _Claw_'s launch bays making last-minute gear checks. Behind the assembly, a shuttle marked with the Galactic Alliance's Diplomatic Corps insignia waited, landing ramp lowered, fat refueling lines still hooked to its underbelly.

'Query,' Ninety droned, 'Are you meatbags sure this plan will work? Why me?'

Tur'in, Bulsara, and Sund were the other three Rogues assigned to this op. Like Ninety, they, too, wore disguises, though they required significantly less preparation. Bulsara wore the uniform of a Galactic Alliance diplomat, an inoffensive gray suit with enough hidden pockets and compartments to fit his comm-bead, a vibroknife, a holdout blaster, and several miniature det-packs. Tur'in and Sund wore light body armor and infantry BDUs to fit their roles as bodyguards. Sund carried a blaster carbine while his Twi'lek wingman toted a flechette caster. In addition, they both had sonic pistols holstered at the hip in the event they had to deal with Daala's Force wielders. The Wraiths wore full commando kit, loaded down with enough explosives and ammunition to level a city block.

Myri finished checking the straps on Sund's webbing and patted him on the back. 'First of all, Turman took a hit last mission. He'll be in sickbay for a few more days, so we needed another face-dancer. Since you could fit a holo-masquer, you were our next best option.'

The assassin droid paused to consider this. 'Statement: You have a point.'

Piggy, fiddling with his wrist launcher, continued from where the Corellian left off. 'Plus, it's a lot easier to hide killy bits on you. You're practically invisible to metal detectors, so you have a better chance of hitting your mark. I admit that we had to rush some of the aspects of this plan. If we'd had a bit more prep time, we would have kept Three Flight together and come up with something for Rogue Nine and Turman. As is, though, Commander Aresh is a bit too noticeable. Not many Chiss work in Starfighter Command.'

Ninety nodded, conceding the argument. 'Statement: Very well.' It tapped the side of its head, drawing attention to the new additions to its skull. 'One more query: Why did you mount _these_ on my optics?'

'Oh, that?' Piggy snorted in amusement. It sounded unusually Gamorrean for the Wraiths' normally eloquent and intellectual leader. 'We just thought that was the funniest place to mount them.'

* * *

Captain Tomar looked up from the hololith aboard the _Claw_'s bridge. 'Four incoming sensor signatures, starfighter-sized. Silhouettes match those of TIE Defenders. Shall I hail them?'

Wedge nodded. The Defenders were a surprise. Rare, expensive, and incredibly lethal, almost all such fighters these days rested in the hangars of the Empire's most elite fleets and squadrons, including the infamous 181st Fighter Group. When Wedge gave the order to put the TIEs on the comm, he saw a typical TIE flight helmet, faceless and grim, but the voice was instantly recognizable. The man with whom Wedge spoke had earned a laundry list of titles almost as long as the ship he commanded: the Baron, the Brahma Bantha, the People's Champion, and after Palpatine's death, he had inherited the title of Most Electrifying Man in All of Space Entertainment. The man was still adored by the people of the Galactic Empire after all these years, hailed as a war hero and quite possibly the greatest pilot in its history after Darth Vader. In a way, he was Wedge Antilles' Imperial opposite. How appropriate, then, that they were brothers-in-law.

'Antilles,' said Baron Fel, 'glad to see you're still alive.'

'Likewise, Fel,' Wedge replied. 'Welcome to the front lines. If you don't mind, I'd like your TIEs to dock with us. The fleet's prepping for a mission soon. We can fill you in when you land.'

'Honored,' Fel said. 'My men would like to hear from actual combatants for once rather than the Intelligence brassholes back home.'

The _Tiger Claw_'s hangars were all occupied to some extent, making the act of parking TIEs a bit more difficult than it had to be. Rogue and Polearm Squadrons had moved their fighters and gear off to the side temporarily to allow the Imperials to land. Despite the cramped surroundings, the TIEs landed expertly in a diamond formation. All bore the bloodstripes of the 181st, as did three of the pilots. Accompanying Baron Fel were two faces familiar to any starfighter enthusiast. Turr Phennir and Maarek Stele had graced many holos and Rebel Alliance priority target lists in the past and their exploits and kill-counts were legendary in the piloting community. The final member of the Imperial flight was a mystery wrapped in riddles with a side of enigma sauce. The pilot colloquially called Fel's Wrath was a silent, faceless sentinel in his all-white flight gear. Some had said that his left areola was shaped like the ice ring of the planet Nurburg and that he had a counterpart in a Galactic Alliance adaptation of a certain pokey piloting program. All anyone knew was that he was officially designated ST-166. When questioned about the small size of his force, Baron Fel assured that his flight was merely an advance party. While the main Imperial fleet mustered in a nearby system, Fel, Phennir, Stele, and 166 had elected to push on ahead and make contact with the Alliance's embattled forces. Pressed for time, Wedge led the officers into the ship to a nearby briefing room, where he could discuss the state of the campaign in greater detail.

When she saw the Imperial pilots pass the open doorway of the _Claw_'s lounge, Leda Maros squealed like a little girl and ran for her bunk. Vigil, who sat across from her, gave the others in the room a look of puzzlement.

'Where's she gone off to?'

Beiner shrugged. 'Knowing her, she's probably looking for a dataslate and a stylus to collect autographs.'

Windspeaker sighed and took Leda's seat. The table between them bore an array of dice, cards, measurement gear, and miniature starfighters on plastic stands. 'Chicks dig the scar, man.'

Vigil scooped up some red dice. 'Alright, we just finished off the movement phase, so shooting starts now.'

Windspeaker took one look at the cards on Leda's side and groaned. 'She's running a TIE swarm list without Howlrunner.'

'Guess you've got your hands TIE'd,' Vigil said lamely. From another table across the room, Nodra booed. 'Roll them defense dice, Three. Wedge Antilles has a Black Squadron member in his sights.'

* * *

Luke and Ben had trekked through Myrkr's forests for two hours when they came across the first oddity on their journey. It was a dead vornskr, cut cleanly in two. Its claw marks marred the bark of a nearby tree. Smoke emerged from what had once been the predator's midsection. It appeared that the vornskr had been killed only a few minutes ago, judging by the quantity of steam rising from its body. Luke knelt at the scene of the kill and scratched his chin in puzzlement. The first thing that came to mind was a lightsaber. He immediately ruled out Daala's Force wielding allies. The disturbance in the Force had been concentrated solely in the Outer Rim-he would have sensed something that powerful on the move. He didn't recall any planned Jedi expeditions to Myrkr, but that didn't immediately rule out the possibility of a sudden need to travel here.

Curiouser and curiouser.

'Did you say something?' Ben asked from behind him.

'Nothing. What do you make of this?'

Ben raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the area. 'Not enough damage to be a cutting laser or something similarly intense. My guess is a lightsaber kill, and a very recent one at that.'

'Exactly what I was thinking. It looks like the vornskr tried to sneak up on our mysterious visitor here-you see the tracks over there and how some of the plants are still pressed down into the ground? It missed, judging by the claw marks on the tree and the lack of blood. Then it tried to come around again and got cut down in mid-pounce.'

Th younger Skywalker frowned, trying to piece together a picture of what the unknown saber-wielder was up to. Not enough information yet. They had to keep on going, see if they could find some more evidence of this fighter's passage or motives.

Luke led the way further into the forest, following a barely visible set of tracks in the forest floor. They crept forward slowly for an hour, carefully placing their steps to avoid roots, rocky outcroppings, and poisonous flora. Suddenly, Luke raised his fist in a 'stop' gesture. He turned a palm to Ben, motioning for him to wait while he moved ahead to check out whatever he'd detected. Luke drew his blaster pistol and vibroblade. Both weapons had been rubbed down with a bit of dirt to dull the shine of their metal components. A lightsaber would be too conspicuous, its activation too loud for stealth. He came to a halt behind a bush and pushed some of the leaves away with his pistol's barrel. He saw a clearing and the second oddity: a fire team of men in Imperial scout trooper armor.

Their armor, painted in a digital camo pattern and unmarked by any sort of unit insignia, blended in well with the forest. Two of them had their backs to him, scanning the tree line ahead for movement with blaster carbines raised. One knelt by a dead body wearing similar armor, inspecting the corpse's gear. The dead man appeared to have suffered a fate similar to that of the vornskr. The fourth member of the fire team talked on a comm-bead, his finger pressed to the side of his helmet. There was too much open space between Luke and the nearest trooper. He would be detected before he could take the man down stealthily, so he waited, watching for opportunities. He could probably take them all down easily with just his lightsaber, but it was always better to be prudent.

His patience paid off. One of the troopers moved to inspect a dead body close to his position. Luke shifted slightly to his left to get a better firing position and raised his pistol. Despite the short range, the forest's ambient noises and his blaster's sound suppressor would make it difficult for the others to hear the shot. The soldier crouched, giving him a clear shot at another member of the fire team. Luke waited until the other three had their backs turned and then hit the closest scout trooper with a stun bolt. Allowing the recoil to carry his gun hand upwards, Luke shot another of the interlopers in the head. Ben stunned the third and fourth. Luke moved from cover, keeping his blaster ready and circling around to keep the four men in his field of vision. Ben broke cover shortly after to check the bodies. After recovering a few rappel lines, he went to restrain the stunned troopers.

As Luke moved to the fourth trooper, the latter twisted abruptly, drawing a holdout blaster and firing before Luke could react. Luke braced for the searing pain of a blaster impact, but he felt none. A purple blur blazed past in between him and the shot. Without hesitating, he stunned the shooter in the arm and kicked away the pistol. It was then that he realized that someone had thrown a lightsaber to deflect the blaster bolt. Their mysterious visitor, then.

Footsteps. The familiar buzz of a lightsaber as it returned to its owner. The hiss of deactivation. A woman's voice. It sounded oddly familiar. 'You're getting rusty, Luke.'

Luke Skywalker was no longer the innocent farm boy from Tatooine, at least not completely. He'd been around the galaxy, seen things most people wouldn't believe, and faced countless perils and horrors on his journeys. His travels had tempered him and, to an extent, jaded him. It was hard to surprise the old Jedi Master these days. Hard, but not impossible, as the lightsaber's owner demonstrated.

She had brilliant red hair, slightly graying, and bright green eyes, still filled with the vigor of youth. Nothing had changed in the space of five long years, not her voice, not the way she walked, not the familiar hints of a warm smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The sight of her still caused his heart to stop a beat. Luke struggled to form a sensible reply. She was supposed to be dead. He and Ben had both felt her become one with the Force. If this was a trick or a clone, it was pretty damned convincing. There was no trace of Clawdite shapeshifting, none of the subtle twitches and tics that gave away presence of such face-dancing. As far as he could tell, it was _her_.

Luke could only utter a single word in response.

'Mara?'


	9. 8: Jedi Princes of the Universe

8

Jedi Princes of the Universe

Luke finished restraining the last of the enemy commandos on Myrkr before stepping into the cockpit of their transport, a Lambda shuttle modified for stealth. It only vaguely resembled the original chassis, its stark white armor replaced by dark gray plating similar to those found on the StealthX and _Knight Hammer_. High-capacity heatsinks and thermal dissipators ran along its port and starboard flanks and the ship's silhouette was streamlined and built to reduce its sensor signature. Inside the storage compartment, the shuttle contained a number of caged ysalamiri and several containers of pet food. The soldiers would remain unconscious for a good while thanks to the stun blasts. As expected, all of them were Maw Irregular troopers, sent to collect ysalamiri for Daala's campaign. The good admiral's hatred of Jedi at work.

It took him a minute or two to find Myrkr Base's comm frequency. The channel's quality was low, but he could make out the other speaker's voice clearly enough.

'Myrkr Base, Myrkr Base,' he said, 'this is Jedi Master Skywalker. Please respond.'

Static first, then a male voice. '-ead you, Master Skywalker. Send traffic, over.'

'We've run into enemy infiltrators in the forests plus one stealth transport. So far, we've stunned and secured three fire teams' worth of enemy troopers. Another fire team was killed in the forest as well. Mostly small arms and light explosives, no heavy weapons sighted so far. Looks like they're here to pick up a bunch of ysalamiri to take home. Recommend you step up your patrols. We're marking the aforementioned shuttle with a locator beacon and commandeering it for our own.'

A pause due to comm-lag. Then Myrkr Base's speaker replied, 'We stand advised, sir. What about the stunned troopers?'

'We've restrained them and loaded them onto the shuttle. Stand by to receive prisoners.'

'Aye aye, sir. Base out.'

In the transport's passenger compartment, Ben and Mara checked and tightened the improvised restraints on the Maw infiltrators. The trip back to allied lines was uneventful. If they were spotted by other enemy infiltrators, they didn't break comm silence to ask why one of their shuttles was en route to Myrkr Base. At least they were professional enough not to give away their positions. Luke was glad they didn't have anti-air weapons, too. They touched down after five minutes of flight. After unloading the prisoners and transferring the cargo to the shuttle Luke and Ben took from the _Claw_, the three Jedi departed Myrkr. Mara had kept her hood up and her mouth covered by her cloak's collar so nobody could recognize her. There was probably a bit of muttering about the mysterious faceless lady accompanying the two but the lightsaber at her side put paid to any big questions. Jedi Order business, probably highly classified. Same stuff, different day.

In the shuttle, Luke activated the autopilot and swiveled his seat around to face Mara, who stood behind him. Ben came in holding three ration tins of coffee. Accepting one, Luke popped it open and tore the foil strip off the chemical heater pack at its base.

'So,' he said, sipping at the warm, bitter drink, 'I think you owe us an explanation, Mara. Don't get me wrong, Ben and I are glad to see you back, but-'

'You have a whole lot of questions. I understand.' Mara coughed uncomfortably. 'This, uh, is going to be a long story. You may want to take notes.'

* * *

'Are you sure you know what you're doing?'

'Eleven, shut up and let me fly this damn thing.'

'Fly casual, alright?'

'Dammit, man, I'm Sullustan! I know my piloting!'

Sil Sund and Tur'in'akar bickered in the pilot seats of the diplomatic craft the Rogue/Wraith strike team had commandeered. IG-90, behind them, fidgeted. Despite the droid's lack of emotion, it looked curiously uncomfortable in its holo-disguise. Dropping out of hyperspace, the diplomatic shuttle closed in on the space station that formed the core of the Sonteg System's considerable defenses. Automated turret installations floated in a spherical formation surrounding the Maw stronghold, a heavy and blocky star fort bristling with missile banks, point-defense guns, and anti-capital turbolaser arrays. Several Star Destroyers were docked along its starboard flank for refueling while corvettes and frigates patrolled the space further out.

'Unidentified craft, this is Sonteg Station. Our weapons are trained on you. Please halt and identify yourself or you will be blown out of the void.'

'Do it,' Piggy said on the short band.

Sund cut the throttle and gunned the maneuvering thrusters, bringing the shuttle to a full and immediate stop. He opened a channel to the station. 'Sonteg, Sonteg, this is Alliance diplomatic craft _Bystander_. We're here on schedule. Sending you a data-burst with our credentials now.'_  
_

He hit a few keys on the instrument panel, uploading the information that proved they were indeed here for a diplomatic mission with very important cargo.

'One moment, _Bystander_. Verifying.' A pause. '_Bystander_, your information is genuine. Pull into hangar 17-Delta and wait there. We'll send a team to meet you there.'

Sending an affirmative, Sund opened the throttle, cruising in at what he hoped was a friendly, innocuous speed. Just for reassurance, he checked to make sure shields were at full. Not that it would help here. He gulped and repeated a mantra in his head taught by Master Skywalker during a brief moment of downtime.

_I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is-_

The shuttle jolted as it was grabbed by a tractor beam. Slowly, they were pulled in. Tensions in the shuttle were high. The Wraiths, stealth-armored and hidden in hastily built smuggling compartments, waited, fingers hovering over triggers. They touched down. No alarms. Sund lowered the landing ramp and he, Bulsara, Tur'in, and Ninety stepped out, regal and crisp like the real deal.

They were greeted by a man in an Imperial officer's uniform, hung with medals, his shoulder marked by a patch bearing the Maw Irregular Fleet's insignia. He bowed slightly.

'Ah, the diplomats have arrived. I'm glad someone in this galaxy is still civil enough to talk things out. Welcome to the Sonteg system. My name is Durak, loyal servant of Admiral Daala. Please, follow me to the dining room. We can talk there.'

IG-90's holo-disguise smiled. It looked like the real deal. So far, so good. Captain Durak had arranged his ships and patrols competently enough to give a frontal assault a hard time, but his focus on protecting against conventional attack had taken his attention away from infiltrators. There were no security checkpoints or body scanners at all en route to the dining room. They reached the dining chamber unscathed. Unfortunately, that was when they hit the first snag.

'Hold up, please,' said one of the two guards by the dining room door. The stormtrooper turned to his comrade. 'Private, does it seem like there's something off about our guests?'

Durak sighed impatiently. 'Is something the matter here, gentlemen?'

The second stormtrooper nodded and tilted his head toward IG-90. 'Yes, sir. The lady here, her movements seem a bit, um, odd. Too rhythmic, a bit...mechanical, I think.'

Sil and Bulsara traded a look. Crap. Bulsara's hand edged toward his hidden holdout blaster. Sil's finger hovered over the trigger of his weapon. They could do this. Only three enemies were in the room. If they reacted quickly enough, the Rogues could quick-draw and kill these guys with minimal trouble. The problem was the noise of gunfire. Then Tur'in interjected smoothly.

'We've been on that shuttle for the past few days, trooper. Straight from Coruscant, you know? The lady's tired and sore-you know how it is with long trips in a cramped shuttle.'

'Yeah, man,' Sil added. 'Come on, why do you have to be insensitive like that? Mechanical? You insinuating she's a droid? A cyborg?'

The two stormtroopers shifted uneasily. 'Hey,' said the first, 'we're just here to keep the captain safe. We're tired too, alright? How about we just-'

'What?' Tur'in put on an indignant tone. 'You think the lady hops on one transparisteel leg or something? That's offensive, man.'

'Look,' interjected Durak, 'guardsman, my men didn't mean anything by it. We, too, are tired. We all are, what with the war and all. How about we put this behind ourselves?'

'That would be acceptable,' Ninety replied.

The Rogues continued onward, glaring at the two guards. Bulsara gave them an 'I'm watching you' gesture as he passed them. Though the Rogues heard no comm traffic, the Wraiths had heard the whole thing. It was all they could do to hold in their laughter.

* * *

Piggy gingerly removed the false panel from the shuttle's wall and edged out, suppressed blaster raised. All clear, it seemed, but he wanted to make absolutely sure first. He walked up to the shuttle's instrument panel in the pilot's compartment and checked the rear and side cameras. No guards, just a few engineers mopping up. They would likely leave very soon. Good.

'Boss, are we moving?' That was Wran. The sniper had it almost as bad as Piggy did in the hidden wall compartments. Piggy had to deal with his huge bulk, Wran had to deal with his sniper rifle, unwieldy and bulky in the cramped space. He was eager to stretch his legs and get somewhere less claustrophobic.

'Not yet,' the Gamorrean replied. He ran a sweep of the shuttle interior to check for hidden bugs the Maw's techs might have placed. The landing ramp had only been down for a few moments, but it could have been enough time for a quick in-and-out. Nothing. The landing ramp was still locked tight and the viewports were all heavily tinted, opaque to outsiders.

'All clear, Piggy whispered.

The Wraiths exited the shuttle's smuggling compartments almost noiselessly, the only sound the clicks of safeties being toggled and weapons being armed. Piggy kneeled down and slowly moved a loose piece of floor plating. Underneath was an emergency escape hatch. He popped the latches and put his hand on the release button.

'Ready?'

'We were born ready,' Trey Courser replied. 'Actually, that's a lie. I was born handsome. I got ready sometime in high school.'

'Alright,' Piggy replied. 'Gun Boy, Ranger Girl, you first. Once it's clear, we move on to our objectives. Don't go loud until phase two. We're ahead of schedule, so might as well make use of the time.'

'Rules of engagement, Lead?' Jesmin Tainer checked her blaster carbine, making sure the sound suppressor was on snugly.

Wraith Leader smirked and set his blaster to lethal. 'Crew expendable.'

* * *

Durak, Bulsara, and Ninety took their seats on opposite ends of a long, polished dark wooden table. At Ninety's request, Durak had shooed the guards away. The matters they were discussing, the droid claimed, were currently far too sensitive for all but Daala and her most trusted officers. His funeral.

Durak caught Bulsara running a finger idly along the wood. To be fair, it was a nice table. Too bad it wouldn't survive the rest of the day.

'You like it, eh? Mahogany,' Durak declared proudly. 'A fine material. And not just any mahogany, either, mind you. It comes from the trees of Malchior VII, three hundred feet tall and highly flammable without proper wood treatment.'

The serving droids arrived with beverages. Water for the two Rogues, a glass of sunfruit cordial for the captain. Bulsara twitched slightly when he saw that there were no coasters for the drinks. They talked at length while waiting for the first course. Ninety fed Durak the scripted spiel, that Wedge Antilles had gone rogue and taken a fleet of loyalists and extremists with him to embark on an unsanctioned campaign. It was all a load of bantha poodoo, but the gullible Captain Durak ate it all up like a Hutt at a buffet.

Ninety's false voice was emphatic. 'What we wish to do, Captain, is to discuss a means of bringing Antilles to justice. He is too much a military man, still living in the days of the Galactic Civil Wars.'

'I see,' Durak said. 'Well, madame, I shall contact the Maw and-Ah! The first course has arrived. Steamed quillfish roe in nerf butter sauce from Sonteg III's oceans. Very delicious, very rich.'

Indeed, the smell did entice Bulsara as the serving droids entered, their arms loaded with trays bearing plates of steaming food. That was the cue. Bulsara checked his chrono discreetly. Right on time. Ninety had spoken slowly and improvised here and there earlier to distract the captain and give the Wraiths enough time to perform their work. The lieutenant nodded at the droid. Ninety powered up its weapons.

The second-to-last thing going through Captain Durak's mind was surprise. Why were Princess Leia Organa's eyes glowing, he wondered briefly. Why did he hear the sound of blaster discharge?

The last thing going through his mind was a pair of high-intensity blaster bolts fired from Ninety's optics. The captain's head simply ceased to exist, exploding into a spray of gore. Outside, the two guard troopers did not respond to the shots. Sil and Tur'in had driven vibroblades through their throats three seconds earlier. Ninety exited and nodded in approval at the two Rogues' handiwork. Bulsara paused to sneak a bite of the fish. It was, indeed, quite rich and quite good.

'Frakking eye lasers,' Sund said. The Sullustan shook his head and chuckled.

* * *

Elsewhere, Sonteg Station was sundered by explosions as the Wraiths' baradium charges destroyed refueling facilities, shield power conduits, and communications gear. The Star Destroyer _Black Hand,_ docked and unshielded for refueling and maintenance, shuddered as its fuel lines caught fire and exploded. It broke away from the space station with a great hole gouged in its starboard flank. The four other docked Star Destroyers also suffered similar fates, wracked by fuel line detonations, secondary explosions, and debris impacts.

By then, the Wraiths had taken the station's comm center and seized control of its sole surviving long-distance broadcasting array. On an old Wraith Squadron frequency, unused since the hunt for Zsinj, Piggy sent a single message before destroying the array's control panel: 'Yub yub, Commander.'

In the adjacent star system, Wedge Antilles received the message. He smirked slightly. Everything had gone according to plan so far. Beautiful. Captain Tomar relayed the order for the fleet to jump to hyperspace. The Battle of the Sonteg System had begun.

* * *

Mara's explanation was, indeed, a long-winded tale. Later, the other two Skywalkers would wish they'd broken out their datapads because of just how utterly convoluted it all seemed. Something about the Ten Knights, an Aing-Tii monk, and an adaptation of the resurrective process that kept bringing Abeloth back to terrorize the galaxy. Somehow, through some means charitably described as 'ass-pulled', the Ten Knights had learned from an Aing-Tii monk how to delay Abeloth's resurrection by modifying the power that continuously resurrected the cosmic abomination. Their first test run, however, had ended up accidentally _redirecting_ that resurrection and something something, Mara was back.

'Okay,' said Luke slowly, 'I think we're with you on this so far. What was that about issues with the resurrection?'

The redhead spoke cautiously, picking her words carefully to best explain to her two companions what had changed. She wanted to put this lightly. _Very_ lightly. Making Luke sad was always a hard thing to do.

'Well, the meatware is all the same, you know? The muscle memory's mostly here, aside from a few kinks to work out again. The problem is, uh, _here_.' Mara pointed at her head.

Thinking Mara was referring to her hair, Luke raised a hand in a placating gesture. 'It's a perfectly natural symptom of age-'

'_No_, Luke.' She forced herself to stifle a chuckle. Sometimes, the farm boy naivety still showed. 'I mean the mind. The flesh is all Mara's, certainly, and some of the subconscious stuff, but up here, it's _not_.'

Ben raised an eyebrow. 'What are you saying?'

'Up here, it's not Mara. It's Callista.'

'Ah,' Luke said sagely. He still needed a moment to take all of this information in so he took a long sip from his tin. Mentally, Ben counted down.

Three.

Two.

One.

Then it hit him. Luke sprayed his mouthful of coffee all over the Lambda's floor.

'Wait, _WHAT_?'


	10. 9: More of That Jazz

9

More of That Jazz

Shortly before detonation, the Rogues and 181st made their final equipment checks aboard the _Tiger Claw_. The mag-con field's properties meant that the hangar could hold in breathable atmosphere, but not the warmth of the cruiser's heating system. Pungent odors of lubricant, coolant, and fuel wafted through the air while techs and pilots ran to and fro. Baron Fel smiled as he clambered onto his TIE's entrance hatch. To him, the cold, the smells, and the noise made him feel at home. It was good to be back in action. He saluted Syal as she approached.

'Baron Fel,' she said, returning the salute smartly, 'good to have you aboard. Any inspiring words for the troops?'

Fel shrugged. 'Nothing that come to mind. Your Rogues seem sound enough so far and my men are all set.'

Syal raised an eyebrow and smirked. When Fel turned to look at the other TIE pilots, he noticed Phennir was giving him a similar expression. He sighed.

'No. _No_. None of that,' Fel said.

'Oh come on, Lead,' Phennir replied, 'we all know you want to do it.'

'Nope. No. N-'

'Seven _years_ since you last got the chance, Fel,' Phennir continued, bobbing his eyebrows mischievously. 'Come on, old man. Let's hear it. I could use a laugh.'

Syal gave him a look. 'Please?'

The Baron rolled his eyes and dropped from his TIE to the deck plating. Syal passed him a microphone connected to the hangar's PA system. 'Alright,' he said finally, 'but only because my niece said "Please".'

He looked around and he saw the rest of the hangar occupants looking at him. He stifled a grin. Even today, he still radiated a presence and charisma that could draw crowds like nobody else. He knew they would hang on his every word. He raised the mic and put on the voice he'd used to rouse billions in the old Imperial propaganda holovids.

'After seven _long_ years,' he began, '_finally...__Finally! __FINALLY, THE BARON HAS COME BACK TO THE _TIGER CLAW! WHICH MEANS _FINALLY_, THE BARON HAS COME BACK TO WAGE WAR! WHICH MEANS _FINALLY_, THE BARON HAS COME BACK...home.'

Phennir laughed as he whipped out a holorecorder. The techs and Rogues went wild.

Fel raised the People's Eyebrow and continued. 'Now before the Baron gets into that, before we electrify, before we turn this out tonight, for those of you who don't know, the Baron has many nicknames: The Great One-'

More cheers and applause.

'-the Most _EEEELECTRIFYING _Man in All of Space Entertainment, the People's Champion! Simply put, ladies and gentlemen, the Baron is _back_! Now the Baron is back because he wanted to do something unprecedented. I wanted to do something no man had ever done before. I wanted to return to lead the 181st!'

Phennir grinned, adjusting the recorder's audio settings so he could catch every single word. HoloTube would love this. Stele groaned, never a fan speeches or showboating. ST-166 sat passively in his cockpit, playing with a datapad game.

Fel began to pace around the hangar. 'So it happened! The Baron called up the Emperor, and the Emperor said, "Dad, I know why you're calling. I know you know I need a leader for the 181st. Dad, there's only one man electrifying enough to lead the 181st into war again! Dad, there's only one man that can captivate _the galaxy_! Dad, that man is _TURR PHENNIR_!'

Good-natured boos rang out through the hangar. Just for laughs, Stele also booed Phennir. He got a slap on the back of the head for that.

'Then I said, "Whoa no, no, no no no nonono. The Baron knows Phennir, he's cool! I dig the man, cool man, but make no mistake about it, Jag, there is only _one man_ capable enough to lead the 181st into this war. That man is the Jabroney-beating, _pie-eating_, _trail-blazing, EYEBROW-RAISING, STEP-OFF-THE-BRAKE-PUT-YOUR-FOOT-ON-THE-GAS, ALWAYS READY TO WHOOP SOME ASS BARON FEL!_'_  
_

Leda looked on, slack-jawed and awed. She never did work up the courage to get those autographs. Beiner poked her in the cheek. She was still too starstruck to notice it.

'The Baron is going to war, the Baron will lead the 181st, and at the drop of a dime, the Baron _WILL LAYETH THE SMACK DOWN ON THE MAW IRREGULAR FLEET!'_

Whistles, cheers, applause, and chants of his many titles met his declaration of impending smackdown. Syal, breathless from laughter, wiped a tear from her eye as Fel handed her the mic.

'Alright, Rogue Leader,' he said, 'let's do some damage.'

When Fel settled into his cockpit, Stele spoke up. 'I had no idea the Rebels enjoyed your holo-persona that much.'

'Now now, Maarek,' Fel chided, 'they're not the Rebel Alliance. They're the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances.'

Phennir scoffed. 'Weren't they the New Republic just a few years ago?'

'Are there prizes for changing your name X number of times?' Stele sniped.

Fel sighed in exasperation. 'Gentlemen, the point is that we must be diplomatic about our diction.'

'Stele here. That means saying something soothing as you pull the trigger, right?'

'Cut the chatter, Four.'

For this mission, Fel, Stele, Phennir, and 166 were designated as Alpha Flight. Phennir had jokingly suggested Red Flight, but a few well-placed reminders of his performance at Adumar had quieted Fel's second-in-command. Wedge had apparently learned a thing or two about creative insults from Wes Janson in the intervening years.

Fel finished his flight checks and ignited his repulsorlifts. Their craft were closest to the flight deck's exit. 'Alpha Flight, check in. Lead has all systems green. And just for the record, I'm never doing _that _again.'

A double comm-click from ST-166, his wingman. His systems all worked fine.

'Three here,' Phennir responded, 'ready for a fight.'

'This is Four,' Stele grunted, 'let's show the kids how it's done.'

'Alpha Flight is all ready,' Fel said on the general comm channel. 'Launching now, _Claw_.'

Captain Tomar's voice came back distorted by the Alliance's low-quality signals. 'Acknowledged, Alpha Flight. Raise hell.'

'Count on it, _Claw_. Alpha out.'

* * *

Sonteg Station was ablaze as the Wraiths and the Rogue infiltrators fought their way back to their shuttle. The Wraiths arrived first and while Trey Courser readied it for flight, the others took up firing positions in the hangar, setting up impromptu barricades with the crates and utility vehicles scattered around. By his chrono's readout, Tur'in'akar estimated his team had five minutes before the Wraiths were forced to extract without them. He leaned out of cover and bit back a curse as he saw that they would not be able to follow the mission timetable.

'Rogue Eleven to Wraiths,' he yelled, 'we won't be able to make it to the shuttle in time! Too much fire coming our way, so we'll try to steal something from the other hangars!'

Piggy responded, his voice clouded by static. Too much interference for a good signal. '-th Leader here, we ack-ledge. Schematics show hangar de-irectly below you. Try to f-escape vehicles there.'

'Thanks for the tip, Wraith Leader,' he said, 'Rogues out.'

Sil fell back into cover, wiping at the blood running down a wound on his forehead. A blaster bolt had grazed him a few minutes before. He loaded another tibanna pack into his blaster and poked his head out, shooting a Maw trooper in the chest before ducking back. Tur'in plucked a grenade from his belt and tossed it down the corridor. The grenade detonated with a dull thump, knocking the rest of the enemy squad to the ground. The Rogues broke cover, pausing to shoot the fallen Maw Irregulars before entering the elevator they were guarding. As the doors closed, soothing music played on the speakers. They reloaded and shifted awkwardly.

Sil coughed uncomfortably and tried to break the silence. 'So, uh, guys, how's it going?'

Nobody responded. First rule of elevators: no small talk.

After an eternity of soft piano music, the elevator reached its destination. Bulsara turned and shot the speaker playing the music.

'Ding ding,' Sund quipped, 'third floor: sporting goods, lingerie, and hangar decks.'

'Statement,' Ninety droned, 'let us move quickly. The fleet will be arriving soo-.'

The Rogues came face to face with a group of Maw TIE pilots, all of whom immediately drew their blasters. Tur'in fired his flechette caster from the hip and dove for cover. He was pleased to see one of the bastards go down with a chest wound. Ninety skewered another with its eye blasters even as several bolts grazed its body. To their credit, the Maw pilots retreated in good order, keeping the Rogues pinned with a hail of fire as they boarded their fighters. The four of them managed to kill a few additional TIE jocks, but the majority reached their fighters in time. As the dust settled, they exited cover and surveyed the scene.

They stood on a catwalk above a number of TIE docking racks. Pilots were meant to climb down into the TIEs' top hatches while the TIEs hung from their ports. Fuel lines were still connected to several of the remaining fighters. Bulsara and Tur'in checked the remaining fighters' fuel levels while Sil and Ninety stood watch. They came back dismayed.

'Most of these things are a quarter full, a half at most,' Tur'in said. 'Should we keep going and find something better?'

'I vote yea,' Sil said. 'Something shielded would also be nice.'

Ninety raised a hand. 'Statement: Agreed. I, too, would prefer something more durable.'

Bulsara shrugged. It was decided, then. They stacked up on the door leading to the next hangar. Ninety sliced the door controls, unlocking them and hovering a metal digit over the 'open' button. As the guy wielding the gear most suited for close combat, Tur'in was their pointman. He raised three fingers.

Three.

Two.

One.

Ninety opened the door and he and Tur'in moved through the door as quickly as they could, taking cover near a stack of crates. They needn't have bothered. This next hangar was empty. Its craft had already launched and the blast doors were sealed. The engineers had already left, presumably to help with repairs elsewhere in the station. The next two hangars were similar, but the one after yielded rather more fruitful results. It was Durak's personal hangar, from the looks of it. Meticulously clean save for some soot from a recent engine burn, it contained a number of starfaring prizes and trophies. It seemed that the man was a starfighter enthusiast.

'Oh. My. Space God.' Sil stared at the collection in wide-eyed wonder. In addition to a TIE Interceptor, the hangar contained a brand new TIE Hunter, a Z-95 Mark I Headhunter modified for space capability, an Adumari Blade-28, a Preybird, and a Cloakshape. The Interceptor appeared slightly bulkier than stock models, indicating the presence of a shield generator and hyperdrive. Each one was lovingly preserved, as clean and shiny as the day they exited the factory.

The normally stoic Bulsara also looked at the fighters with awe. His expression spoke for them all. _I want it all_, it said. _I want it all, and I want it _now.

Ninety walked over to a nearby fuel line, which had been coiled up and tucked away by the door. 'Statement: This fuel line appears to have been recently used. I can still see a few drops on the mouth of the hose.'

Tur'in, who had poked his head into the Preybird's cockpit, confirmed its suspicions. 'Yep. Preybird's fully fueled. Looks like the captain loved his joyrides during his spare time.' He jumped into the pilot's seat and fastened the flight gear inside the cockpit, running through checkups while Ninety entered the hangar's control room to open the blast doors.

Bulsara claimed the Z-95 as his fighter, embracing the purple and gold craft tearfully. To be fair, it was, indeed, a beautiful thing, dagger-shaped with swept-back swing wings. Sleek, reasonably maneuverable, with shields and engines that remained respectable even decades after their initial production runs. Meanwhile, Sund busied himself with the TIE Hunter's flight gear and startup routines. He waved goodbye to the fighters they would not be able to save. Such a waste, he thought. Shame we can't take those home as well.

As the blast doors began to open, Ninety dropped into the Interceptor's cockpit and opened its instrument panel up. Connecting some of the wiring inside to interface ports in its arms, the droid jacked into the fighter's systems, directly controlling the TIE with its brain rather than via manipulation of instruments and the stick.

'Statement: Rogue Six is ready.'

Ten raised his fighter on its repulsorlifts. He was clearly ready for flight.

'Eleven here, all systems optimal.'

'Twelve, good to go.'

As the _Tiger Claw_ and her escorts jumped into the Sonteg System, the Rogue infiltrators launched.

* * *

The first wave encountered token resistance as it exited hyperspace. Disoriented and wounded by the Wraiths' and Rogues' sabotage, the Maw defenders retaliated as a confused rabble. News of Durak's death had left the Sonteg fleet headless and their communications net a mess of calls for orders and bickering over succession. In stark contrast, the _Tiger Claw_, _Firelance_, _Zero Gravitas_, and _Skyhook_ rolled over the Maw Fleet's outermost defenses with contemptuous ease and disciplined, accurate fire, blowing apart patrol craft and enemy corvettes along their path.

Syal opened a channel to the first wave's fighter screen as it approached maximum weapons range. 'Rogue Leader to all fighters, call friendlies as you see them. Squadron leaders, engage at your discretion but watch your fire. Let's get our people home safe.'

Fel and the others voiced their affirmatives and obeyed. 166, Stele, and Phennir formed up on him in a diamond formation as their Defenders sped into the fray. Loaded with concussion missiles, their TIEs would serve most effectively against starfighters and other small craft. He switched to the 181st frequency and relayed his orders.

'Fight by wing pairs,' he said. 'Two, you're my wing.'

Phennir and Stele climbed and broke hard to port, taking full advantage of their Defenders' tight turning radii, to pursue a flight of mercenary StarVipers. Fel pushed them from his mind; they were perfectly lethal on their own, and he knew they would not call his attention except in emergencies or to disengage for fuel and reloads. Flicking through his target selector, Fel noted an oddity on his display and alerted the Alliance force.

'Alpha Lead here, I've got _Bystander_ on my sensors. Looks like it's being pursued by TIEs, Maw loyalist.'

'Roger that, Alpha Lead,' replied Syal, 'you're closest to them, so keep _Bystander_ covered. Just got buzzed by Rogue Six as well. They've exited the station in a stolen TIE Hunter, shielded Interceptor, Mk I Z-95, and Preybird. Mark the following target designations as friendly...'

He received the data inload and complied as he and Alpha Two moved to hit _Bystander_'s assailants. Fel set his fire control to lasers-no sense wasting the Defender's limited missile supply on a lowly TIE/Ln-and angled his craft 'downwards'. Twenty kilometers. Fifteen. Ten. Maximum laser range. His brackets glowed with the light of a laser lock over the one closest to the Wraiths' shuttle. His trigger finger flexed even as the enemy TIE futilely tried to break the lock, sending a quartet of green laser bolts through its ball cockpit. An instant later, Fel's Wrath vaped the fighter to its starboard. The two survivors disengaged and gunned for Fel and his wingman.

'Brave,' Fel muttered, 'but stupid.'

He twitched the control yoke to and fro, corkscrewing and sideslipping to dodge the Maw pilots' inaccurate shots. Then he locked and fired, killing the eyeball with another cockpit shot. The other TIE's sensor signature winked out of existence as well, blown out of the void by ST-166. Seconds later, the Wraiths hailed his TIE.

'_Bystander_ to TIE Defenders,' Piggy said, 'thanks for the assist. To whom do we owe a drink?'

'Alpha Leader to _Bystander_,' Fel responded, 'you have the pleasure of buying beverages for Baron Fel and Fel's Wrath. Well, all of you except Gambler Girl. She's family.'

'Noted, Alpha Leader. We'll meet you at the cantina later.'

Baron Fel smirked, rotated his fighter ninety degrees, and turned to match _Bystander_'s flight path. 'Alpha Lead to Alliance fighters, Two and I are escorting _Bystander_ back home.'

A pair of E-wings from High Flight Squadron flew past and turned to form up behind him and ST-166. They looked damaged and beaten, no doubt from High Flight's ongoing battle with the enemy capital ships. They hailed Fel.

'High Flight Seven and Eight to Alpha Leader, we've been ordered back to the _Claw_ for repairs and reload. We can bring _Bystander_ back from here, sir.'

Fel bobbed his fighter's wings once in respect to the two pilots and arced away, back to the fight. 'Do so, High Flight Seven and Eight. Thank you.'

He and Alpha Two immediately dove back into the fray, lasers firing as quickly as they could acquire targets. It was no difficult feat. A target-rich environment laden with old and less maneuverable craft made for a shooting gallery to the 181st veterans. Fel tracked laser fire along the length of a Skipray Blastboat, tearing a great gouge in its starboard flank and leaving it dead in space, before joining Phennir and Stele, who prepared for an attack run on the Star Destroyer, _Carnifex_.

Four of the Empire's best flew against a bleeding, burning Star Destroyer, half of whose weapons had already been destroyed by repeated torpedo runs and the fuel line sabotage from earlier. _Carnifex_ didn't stand a chance. A volley of cluster missiles and laser fire from the 181st drained the last of its bridge shields, opening the generator domes up for attack from Nova Squadron's B-wings. Seconds after the second generator exploded, _Carnifex_ sent a message of unconditional surrender to the _Tiger Claw_. The surviving Maw forces followed suit soon after.

* * *

Wedge breathed a sigh of relief. The first wave had been sufficient and the lightning strike successful. He ran through damage reports. Few serious issues there, though a few of his lighter corvettes would need some time in dry dock to return to full operational capacity. The _Claw_ herself had sustained minor damage to her weapon hardpoints and shield systems as a result of combat stresses, though the engineering section told him they could have those problems fixed up within the day. Wedge selected a small portion of the fleet to escort the surrendered craft to the nearest Alliance star base, where they would be repaired, recrewed, and sent back to the front lines.

'Bring in the second wave and our construction teams,' he ordered. 'Let's get this place fixed up and fortified before Daala tries to kick us out. Once that's done, we can mark this place down as a stop for our supply convoys. Any word on Luke?'

Captain Tomar nodded. 'It'll be done, sir. And yes, sir. He sent me an update during the tail end of the battle. He said he was about a day's journey away from linking back up with us, judging by the hyperlane return route you mapped out.'

Wedge scratched his chin idly. 'Very good, Captain. Hopefully, he'll be back with good news. Comms, please hail the local planetary governors. I'm sure they're dying to know if Daala's vultures have been ousted yet.'


	11. 10: Dear Friends

10

Dear Friends

Hyperspace gave way to realspace once more as Luke arrived at the final point on the return route. The _Tiger Claw_ loomed in the distance like some gigantic sentinel as flights of X-wings, A-wings, B-wings, and other starfighters patrolled the Sonteg System. Standing up to stretch his cramped legs, Luke hit the autopilot and set a course for the _Claw._ An X-wing flew alongside his shuttle for a few seconds and bobbed its wings in greeting. From the viewport, Luke could clearly see Syal in the starfighter's cockpit. He smiled, waved, and did the same. A few minutes later, the Mon Cal Cruiser's tractor beams activated and pulled Luke's shuttle in for a safe landing. Mara was still laughing when she, Ben, and Luke disembarked._  
_

'I can't believe you fell for that,' she said breathlessly. '"Callista". Come on, farm boy, are you really still that gullible?'

Luke rolled his eyes, too tired to snark back.

'Still,' Mara continued, 'it was nice to see you back on Myrkr. Reminds me of the first time we met. Except for the part where you-'

Luke rushed to cover Mara's mouth before she could say anything embarrassing. He coughed uncomfortably. 'So it's really you? _Mara_ Mara and not Callista in Mara's body?'

He removed his hand to let her speak. 'Of course I am,' she said exasperatedly. 'Sheesh, what more proof could you possib-_glurk!_'

Mara suddenly found herself unable to speak. Or breathe. Luke and Ben were hugging her too tightly. Suddenly realizing that they had an audience, Mara blushed furiously and pushed the other Skywalkers away. Whispers began to rumble throughout the hangar.

Wedge approached with an eyebrow raised. 'Mara?' he asked. 'Aren't you supposed to-'

'I was only _mostly_ dead!' she exclaimed.

Wedge shrugged and hugged her, too. Then Luke and Ben joined in again. In the back, Phennir and Stele traded amused expressions and snickered. Then Myri Antilles pushed her way to the front of the congregation and gasped in surprise.

'Auntie Mara? You're alive?'

Mara glared at her. 'Oh, not you t-'_  
_

Myri didn't let her finish. She joined in on the group hug. 'I knew it!' she said. 'I knew you were just faking it to dodge taxes the whole time!'

Mara Jade Skywalker sighed. Just roll with it, she thought to herself. It was embarrassing, but it was a good kind of embarrassing. It felt nice to be among family again. She didn't plan on leaving them again any time soon.

'Oh, and Mara?' Luke said, breaking the group hug at last.

'Yes?'

He smirked smugly. 'For your little joke there, you've earned my gravest revenge.'

Wait. Revenge? Luke? Luke Skywalker. Talking about revenge. She gave him a nervous grin. 'Wait, what? Revenge is beneath you!'

Luke's expression remained unchanged.

'Luke? Dearest? Husband? _Lukey-poo?_'

Luke gave her a smile full of teeth and exited the hangar, walking backwards and never breaking eye contact. 'Yub yub, Mara.'

Mara sputtered and looked at Ben for help. Unfortunately, he wore the same expression and exited in the exact same manner. 'Yub yub, mom,' he said.

Wedge looked profoundly disturbed. 'What did you do to them? Mara, did you break our two Jedi?'

She told him what she did on Myrkr. Wedge and Myri shrugged. 'Can't help you there, Mara,' Wedge said. 'Goodness, look at my wrist, I have work to attend to!'

He rushed out to the bridge to busy himself with administrative and strategic duties. Best to stay away from Mara to avoid becoming collateral damage in whatever prank Luke had in store for her.

'Myri?' Mara asked. 'You know pranks, right? What d-'

'Yub yub, Auntie Mara,' the younger Antilles said as she left to rejoin the Wraiths.

Oh _cock_, thought Mara Jade.

* * *

Baron Fel gave Wedge a hasty salute as he entered the bridge of the _Claw._ He fished a datapad out of a thigh pocket and handed it to his Alliance counterpart as he joined Wedge at the hololith. Wedge had busied himself with planning the next phases of the campaign. Above the holo-projector hovered an image of their operational theater: the Maw and its surrounding systems and hyperlanes. Star systems in friendly hands were marked in green while the Maw's were marked in red. Wedge had hastily drawn up arrows and written up notes, picking out what he thought were key objectives and potential strategic maneuvers. His shorthand had never been easy for Fel to read, so the Baron decided not to bother deciphering the galaxy map for now.

'Good news from the Empire,' Fel said. 'The vanguard of the Imperial fleet is inbound, two days away assuming they aren't held up by any more of the Maw's raiders. The main body should be with us in three.'

Wedge studied the datapad and its contents, reading through the fleet composition tables and situation reports. He ran the calculations in his head and began making modifications to the hologram, adding extra allied markers to his unit distribution and drawing arrows that indicated potential pushes towards a number of points.

'Very good news,' Wedge agreed. 'With the ships the Empire's sending, I can draw some of our defensive patrol groups back and use those to supplement a stab deeper into the Sonteg Route, take one of Daala's escape routes.'

Fel pointed at some of the markings his fellow general had drawn up. 'Won't these pushes into the Cabal and Geneb Systems stretch us thin?'

Wedge shook his head. 'At current strengths, yes. However, I just got off the horn with Naval Command. The ImpStar Deuces we captured here should be patched up, crewed, and combat-ready within the week. No news yet on reinforcements from the Core, though. With the Star Destroyers on our side, we'll at least have a fighting chance if the SuperStar and its escorts come at us.'

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that yet,' Fel said quietly.

Wedge waved aside the holograms of his plans and opened another image, one taken from IG-90's in-built holocam during the Sonteg Station infiltration.

'In other news, there's this,' said Wedge.

At first glance, the holo was an innocuous capture, an image of the Maw pilots Ninety, Bulsara, Tur'in, and Sund had encountered on the station's hangar deck. Some were bareheaded, some were helmeted. But then in the back, halfway into a TIE Hunter's entrance hatch, was a man who looked exactly like a younger Baron Fel, albeit with both of his eyes still intact.

Raising the People's Eyebrow, the Baron let out a slow breath. 'Well, that's a startling development.'

A Fel clone. It had to be. Years ago, Fel had submitted his genetic material to Thrawn's Mount Tantiss cloning facility. Hundreds of Fel clones were seeded and prepared as sleeper agents, waiting for Thrawn's call to arms in the event of a galactic invasion. Daala, it seemed, had recruited at least one into her service.

'We're still sorting out combat footage from gun-cams,' Wedge said, 'but it's possible that some of the faster Maw ships managed to escape. I'd wager that the Second-Most Electrifying Man in All of Space Entertainment managed to escape and alert his friends.'

* * *

Daala clenched her fists as she read the reports of the Alliance conquest of the Sonteg System. Only a handful of the defenders there had survived Durak's incompetence, among them the squadron leader who had led four of her precious TIE Hunters to safety. It was practically at her doorstep. Too close for comfort, she thought. It was still too early to admit defeat, however. She still had her fleets, the Dread Masters, and her Imperial mole. She could still do this. She just had to bleed Antilles' fleet and finish the Super Star Destroyer. In the back of her mind, she also made a mental note to award that pilot with a pay raise. Daala pressed the call button on her desk's comm unit.

'Lieutenant,' she said to the secretary on duty, 'please get the communications room ready and call up my fleet and station commanders. There are matters of procedure we must discuss.'

Without waiting for a reply, she exited her office, a dreary, spartan affair ever since she had most of the furniture moved to the Super Star Destroyer. The communications room was dimly lit to compensate for the brightness of the hologram projectors' images. Already, the niches in which the holo-projectors sat were lit. A number of three-dimensional electric blue images stood at attention above the projectors, ready to hear her say.

Daala paused to make sure everyone was paying attention before she began. 'Gentlemen, as you know, Durak has failed. The Sonteg System has fallen and Wedge Antilles has set up shop a mere handful of jumps away from our headquarters. This calls to attention a number of flaws in communications and security procedures.'

One of her fleet masters, a burly rear admiral with a cybernetic eye spoke up. 'Admiral, my forces are just a day or two away from Antilles. If I receive some reinforcement, I can push him out of Sonteg and send him running.'

Daala shook her head. 'Negative. We lack sufficient intelligence to determine the exact size of Antilles' fleet and our reports show that the Empire's main force is on the verge of linking up with him. Our first order of business: I am recalling our raiding fleets within the week and retasking them to more defensive endeavors. Some of you will be sent to garrison our key hyperlanes, while others will be given the job of raiding the Alliance and Imperial supply lines rather than plundering the Rim's myriad backwaters. More details will be released within the day once everything is finalized.'

The fleet commanders all voiced their assent. Some would grumble about the restrictions on their pillaging, but they all saw the necessity of halting Antilles' advance. The Galactic Alliance's coffers were still drained from the Second Galactic Civil War. If Antilles' advance stagnated and if he suffered too many losses, the operation would be deemed a failure and he and his men would be withdrawn. The expenses of a prolonged siege and heavy attrition would be far too much for the war-weary Alliance. The Empire would be a different matter entirely, but currently, Wedge Antilles was the greater threat.

Daala cleared her throat and continued. 'Furthermore, the Sonteg incident is a particularly glaring example of issues with our comm procedure. As of today, all of our garrisons and mobile fleets are expected to send regular signs of their status every half-day. Nothing complex, just an audio ping via encrypted channels to indicate that you remain in operation. Comm silence will be taken as a sign of emergency. At that point, all mobile reserve elements within two hyperspace jumps are to move in to assist if they are not already engaged. Obviously, I expect you all to call for reinforcements or give ground if absolutely necessary.'

More murmurs of assent. Some of her officers scribbled or typed up notes on datapads.

'And one more thing,' Daala said. 'If any of you spot Antilles' flagship, you are to call in reinforcements, regardless of how outgunned you believe he is. I have no doubt of your abilities, ladies and gentlemen, but the Alliance's failure hinges on us fighting intelligently and unfairly. You are not to chase glory, you are not to engage in duels or even fights. If that damned Mon Calamari Cruiser shows up on your sensors, even if it is alone, you call in every single one of the mobile reserve assets assigned to your command. We kill him, we kill Alliance morale, we kill their war effort. Am I understood?'_  
_

'Yes, Admiral,' the officers chorused.

'Good,' she said. 'That will be all for now.'

Returning to her office, Daala sank wearily into her chair and looked out at the stars. How ironic that just a few years ago, _she_ would have commanded the Galactic Alliance's fleets. How did it all go so wrong? _When_ did it all go wrong?

Fondor. Things had gone downhill at Fondor. Damn Caedus and the Jedi. Damn the Alliance, Antilles, the Empire. Damn them all. She was sure that had the Fondor debacle gone differently, the galaxy would be a more peaceful place. She would be on Coruscant instead of sitting in the Maw. She wished Pellaeon were here. Gilad Pellaeon: admiral, military genius, friend. Pellaeon had lived through several of the galaxy's most bitter conflicts. The Clone Wars, two Galactic Civil Wars, the Imperial Civil War, the Thrawn conflict, the Yuuzhan Vong Invasion-every single one had earned the man a laundry list of honors and medals that would have shamed any military officer living today. And then Fondor happened. Shot dead by Tahiri Veila, an unnecessary and ultimately pointless death, in Daala's opinion. He would have known what to do. The old man always did. He wouldn't have made the same mistakes. She missed the old man.


	12. 11: Play the Game

11

Play the Game

'Pawns take stronghold,' Calphayus said matter-of-factly. 'You have lost, Kharak.'

The other Dread Master harrumphed and crossed his arms, surveying the scene of the strategy game he and his teacher played. Indeed, Calphayus' army regulars had overrun his defenses and conquered his final piece of territory, leaving the battle map entirely in the dark red of Calphayus' holographic force. Kharak furrowed his brow, searching the frozen hologram for problems with his own strategy and placement. Uninterested in war games, Altis meditated in the command chair that had once been occupied by a Galactic Alliance shipmaster. The corpses of the captain and his crew littered the decks of the ship the three of them had boarded using the Admiral's stealth shuttle. The pungent odors of saber-cooked meat wafted through the vessel's silent halls. A curious and novel machine, to be sure. Yes, the Admiral would prove a suitable guide and puppet while the three of them acclimated to this now-unfamiliar galaxy.

'You invested too much in your elites,' Calphayus finally explained. 'See how my waves of conscripts stepped over the corpses of your mere dozens of Sith? Your forces were stretched thin, allowing me to cut their supply train and drain them at my leisure. Lightsabers and the Force are powerful tools, but never underestimate the worth of simple blasters, blades, and dirty fighting. Combined arms are the key to victory.'

'A simple game mechanic,' Kharak grumbled. 'We took this ship in minutes by ourselves, Master. Their blasters were no more successful than those wielded by the countless other fools we have slain in our travels. And your assaults on my supply lines were simply unsportsmanlike.'

Calphayus shook his head. 'Treat every foe and tactic as a genuine threat, Kharak. You are not invincible. I, too, once considered those unversed in the Force to be mere insects, but my arrogance cost me on Oricon. Forget all pretenses of sportsmanship or honor. It was only through deception and ingenuity that I managed to escape the Republic's custody.'

'And then they sent _another _army,' Altis muttered from the chair.

'That, too,' Calphayus said. He stood up and packed away the holo-projector. It was a novelty item, to be sure, but it had its educational uses. Calphayus had taken it from a pair of mechanics after bisecting them. He and Kharak had spent the past hour's rest learning its workings. It was a complex thing, simulating a strategic experience incorporating countless maneuvers, supplies, and units. Perhaps he would keep it to pass the time on hyperspace voyages. 'Altis, tell the Admiral that we've silenced another of these patrols. More will be along to investigate, and I have no wish to practice the finer points of capital ship command yet.'

* * *

'And that's another win for me,' said Maarek Stele as he checked the dice results. He and Syal had been at it for the past few hours of downtime, practicing their tactical command skills in the dogfighting simulator game Vigil and the other Rogues had enjoyed playing. So far, Syal had won three out of seven games. With the other Rogues asleep and the other squadrons on patrol duty, Syal and the 181st's pilots had the ship cantina to themselves._  
_

Stele shook his head in disapproval. 'I would have expected better from Antilles' daughter,' he rumbled.

Syal merely raised an eyebrow in irritation, rearranging the pieces and sweeping the table clear of their measurement gear.

'You're too defensive,' the Imperial pilot continued. 'You are afraid of risking your pilots.'

Surprised, Syal replied, 'Isn't that the point? My duty is to my men, first and foremost.'

'Wrong,' Stele said. 'Your duty is to the _Alliance_. While I applaud your protectiveness, a commander must not hesitate to risk his forces if doing so attains victory. To a reasonable extent, of course. The other end of the spectrum, crippling your war effort to win a single victory, is also unacceptable.'

As unpleasant as Stele was, Syal couldn't deny that he had a point. Losses were inevitable. Still, the thought of the historical Rogue Squadron turnover rate terrified her. Command was still something to which she was unaccustomed. How did her father manage to remain sane after seeing so many friends die?

'Then what, to you, is an acceptable loss, General? At what point should I throw my pilots into the fire and hope they come out alive?'

Stele paused to consider the question. He had little respect for these new Rogues. They were, for the most part, untested Academy graduates. Though they were undoubtedly the top of their class, they had not yet begun to truly experience the stresses and trauma of war. They were pretenders to a legacy and name they didn't deserve. Some showed promise-the Corellian, the Chiss, the Wookiee-but the rest had done little to impress. Antilles, however, was the exception. The girl had flown against the previous Rogue Squadron-the true Rogues still, in his opinion-and shot down at least one. She had fought in the Second Galactic Civil War and had, thus far, prosecuted her duties quite ably. She had not hesitated to ask questions, either, proving her humility and willingness to learn.

'It's impossible to come up with a definite set of circumstances,' Stele replied at last. 'In the heat of combat, you won't have perfect information. Hindsight and experience will teach you better than a lecture from me, anyway. Trust in your pilots. Your rookies will never grow if you keep coddling them.'

Syal leaned back in her seat, frowning and unsatisfied. Try as she might, she couldn't help but think of the Rogues as kids, despite the fact that some were even older than her. In her eyes, they were still 'nuggets', greenhorns in the Alliance flight school parlance. She snapped out of her reverie and returned to the game.

'Alright, General. Rematch. We've got time for one more round before we're back on duty.'

* * *

At the edge of the Kalbe System, four TIE Hunters sped toward a massive defense station, cleared for landing. Their wingtips were painted a bright, brilliant yellow, the body plating a gray camouflage pattern. As one, they arced toward an open hangar door, cutting throttle. Inside the star fortress' hangar bay, nine other Hunters, similarly painted, waited in varying states of maintenance and refueling. They were Daala's elite, the only TIE Hunter squadron to have suffered zero casualties against Antilles' forces. Each one was an ace, bearing a shoulder patch depicting a silver and yellow bird of prey on a shield.

As the four arrivals docked, the lead fighter's pilot disembarked. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, almost too large for the cramped confines of his cockpit. He, like the man on which he was based, carried an air of charisma and pride that commanded respect. His name, or at least the name given to him by the memories flash-imprinted by Thrawn's clone facility, was Castor. Having survived the Vong invasion, he had outlived the purpose Thrawn had given him. He served Daala not out of agreement with her principles or what she represented, but because it gave him purpose. It gave him a war to fight. Unlike his fellow clones, Castor was not content with the pastoral life. A curious quirk of the mental programming, perhaps. Maybe someone had nudged his tank during the gestation process. He didn't know and he didn't care.

The other members of his squadron saluted and straightened at his arrival. Some asked questions about his and the others' escape from the doomed Sonteg system, which he waved off until the official debriefing later. Others had asked about the laser damage to his TIE. That, he'd told them, was the work of an Alliance pilot. She had skill, that one. He knew the potential for greatness when he saw it, and the pilot who had so nearly vaped him had it in spades. Castor's second-in-command expressed disappointment about the recent engagement.

'No kills for us,' she said. 'A poor run, sir.'

Castor shook his head. 'No, Four, it was a good one. No casualties. Any zero-casualty run is a good one, especially if we bring our fighters back intact.'

She snorted in derision. 'Not that that'll do much good. The Admiral has us flying sorties around the clock. We hardly have any time for breaks or maintenance.'

'We'll be given a few days' rest, according to the Admiral. I am assured of this.' Castor removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm, wiping sweat from his brow. The heat in the base was unpleasant at best, and positively sweltering during the height of the day. 'We'll fix up our fighters, take to the heavens, and dance with the enemy again in proper fighting condition.'

'I'd like a piece of those X-wings, boss,' added Six. He was agitated, twitchy, ready to get back into the cockpit. 'The ones with the red bloodstripes.'

Castor smiled predatorily. 'Of that, I have no doubt, Six. So would the rest of us. I get the feeling we'll be seeing them again soon.'

Rogue Squadron kill marks. Now _those_ would be a prize. The greatest pilots in the galaxy, or so he was told, led by the Ace of Aces. He looked out at the station's windows at the arid planet below. Its inhospitable atmosphere and unstable tectonics made ground combat and mass settlement unfeasible. Its mineral wealth, however, made it an enticing target for the Galactic Alliance and Empire. There was only one way anyone would take Planet Besh-7R, and that was through air and space superiority. He smiled to himself, hoping that the pilot who had so nearly killed him would survive to face him there. No interference, no anti-fighter batteries, nothing but a man and his starfighter and skills-the perfect battleground for a true ace. The perfect place for a man to earn a place in history.

* * *

Mara yelped in surprise when she felt something soft and hirsute latch onto the back of her head. Clawing blindly at her assailant, she backed violently into the wall behind her before wresting the attacker free and throwing it to the ground. She took a moment to catch her breath before she realized what it was that had jumped her. It was a tiny stuffed Ewok dressed in a Jedi robe, its expression curiously and cartoonishly angry. Frowning, Mara bent to pick it up and squeezed it experimentally.

'Yub yub!' it squeaked.

Luke and Ben rushed in then, blasters drawn and lightsabers in hand.

'We heard a ruckus,' Ben said.

Mara glared at them, unconsciously squeezing the Ewok in a death grip.

'Yub yub!'

The two Skywalker men holstered their weapons.

'Oh,' Luke said, 'you've met Padawan Kettch.'

'_This_ is your revenge?' Mara growled.

Luke and Ben smiled deviously. 'Oh, no, Mara. _That_ wasn't us. Certainly not _me_, in any case. I haven't made my move yet.'

Mara blinked. 'Wait, what?' she said incredulously.

'No,' Luke deadpanned, 'things haven't even _begun_, dear.'

He and Ben backtracked out, once again never breaking eye contact. Mara grumbled and looked at Padawan Kettch. 'What's that supposed to mean?' she asked it.

'Yub yub!'

* * *

Syal fought Stele to a standstill in their final match before Wedge called the Rogues and 181st to one of the conference rooms. The Rogues, groggy but rested, took their places in the bleachers, slapping themselves awake and sipping cups of synth-caf. Fel, Stele, Phennir, and ST-166, having spent their break time with Syal, were wide awake. Wedge and Luke nodded at them in greeting as the pulled up an image of their next danger zone on the hololith.

'This,' Wedge began, 'is the Kalbe System, the next stop on the route to the Maw. Our latest intel places its defenses at one heavy space defense station, _Titan_-class, plus two ImpStar Deuces and an unknown number of smaller escort ships. We do know that the Star Destroyers have their full TIE complements, along with an assortment of mercenary fighters.'_  
_

Zooming in, Wedge highlighted the outermost world, a desert planet around which the space station orbited. Smaller images of the Maw fleet floated around the space station in defensive formation.

'While we do know about the defenses in the Kalbe System,' Luke continued, 'we know very little about the planet Daala has used as her main stronghold in the area. It's designated Besh-7R. Its atmosphere is poisonous to any organics without a mag-con field or respirator and tectonic activity on the ground makes a land war or large-scale development impossible. As far as we know, it's uninhabited by organics, but there may still be civilians on the surface, most likely in small mining colonies.'

'What are the rules of engagement, sir?' Vigil asked.

'The same as always,' Wedge replied. 'We're here as liberators, not conquerors. Protect civilian lives if at all possible. If you see an enemy making for the planet's surface, pursue and neutralize it.'

Aresh raised his hand next. 'Even if it's a trap to draw us away from the fleet?'

'We can't discount that possibility,' Luke conceded, 'but we also can't discount the possibility that Daala and her forces would shoot civilians in desperation. Our job, first and foremost, is to protect the galaxy's people, and that's exactly what we'll do.'

Syal was next to speak. 'What else do we know about Besh-7R? Anything mission-relevant?'

Wedge shook his head. 'I'm afraid not, Commander. Too many patrols for our recon elements to remain on station for long. Apparently, Besh-7R was the site of a great many starfighter battles during the Clone Wars. Some of the datapads I've read on the planet claim that its surface still bears the scars and relics of the aces that fought in its skies decades ago-ARC-170s, V-wings, older model Z-95s, and various CIS starfighters, both droid and organic-piloted. Of course, the history buffs among you might call it a different name.'

Stele recognized the planet from Wedge's description. He, too, had read tales of it in his youth, as well as other texts on piloting and the galaxy's old aces. Countless pilots had emerged with their names carved in the annals of history as legendary aces, and countless more had met their ends in that planet's skies. There, all pilots were equal, limited only by their own skills and starfighters. He said its name with all the reverence and respect it deserved: 'The Round Table.'


	13. 12: Ride the Wild Wind

12

Ride the Wild Wind

Syal was the first to drop out of hyperspace, pulling up her sensor board's display on the control panel. One hyperspace jump away from the Kalbe System, it said. To starboard floated the hyperspace buoy, forlorn and silent, a lonely sentinel on this forsaken trail at the edge of civilization. Behind her X-wing, the Rogues, Alphas, and Polearms exited hyperspace, making their own checks and roll calls. A short while later, the _Tiger Claw_ entered the system alongside _Errant Venture,_ _Firelance_, _Black Reef_, and _Zero Gravitas_. Far ahead to port lay a nebula, beautiful and colorful, its bright orange and pink hues streaked with blues and greens. Sensors would not penetrate far there. Nodra's coordinates had been solid. The Duros had a good head for astronavigation, like most of his kin.

'Rogue Leader to all units, we've got a nebula up ahead. I've got nothing on my sensors, but I recommend a recon probe through it just in case.

It took Wedge a minute or two to respond due to comm lag. 'Acknowledged, Commander. We're on a tight timetable here. Command wants us to push on ahead, get Kalbe secure within the day before the Imperial Fleet links up with us. Polearm will scout the nebula. Meanwhile, Rogue and Alpha are to continue to the hyperspace buoy. _Tiger Claw_ and _Venture_ will jump with you. _Reef_, _Lance_, and _Gravitas _will stay behind and jump to Kalbe fifteen seconds after the _Claw_.'

Wedge's hastily relayed commands were met by a chorus of affirmatives. Though none of the fighter pilots out in the void could see him frown, Syal knew he was uneasy. Wedge had wanted to wait one more day before attacking to ensure he had an overwhelming force on hand. Most of the fleet was out running patrol and garrison duty in the star systems they had liberated along the way, leaving him with only a small group to launch an attack. He hated anything approaching an even match-up. That just gave the enemy a bigger chance of mauling one's forces, and any victory would be pyrrhic. However, Naval Command had gotten impatient with his deliberate, cautious pace. Time was money, they said, and the Navy had cheaper things to do than hunt warlords. Syal pushed such thoughts from her head. She could question things later, in private. Right now, she had a job to do.

'Still nothing on sensors,' Vigil said on the squad band. 'This is too quiet, man. I would have expected Daala to raid us or drop mines or something.'

'Stop jinxing it, Five,' Nodra replied. 'Rogue Seven to all, rechecking my calculations. Prepare for data inload.'

Seconds later, a series of coordinates appeared on Syal's screen. They were largely the same as those already saved on her navicom barring a few decimal places, but it was a good sign. Squad discipline was tight and her fellow pilots' attention to detail remained sharp. Within minutes, they reached the next jump point.

'Polearm Leader to all units,' Commander Konnair said, 'nothing in the nebula, but we'll go in for another sweep. Could be that whatever's in there just moved to avoid detection.'

'Acknowledged, Polearm,' Syal responded. 'Rogues jumping in five.'

'Alpha Flight jumping in five,' Baron Fel said.

* * *

As the Rogues prepped for their next hyperspace jump, the hypercomm unit Daala's forces had spliced to the buoy sent a single encrypted ping. Hyperdrives already fully charged, a trio of capital ships made the jump. One was an Acclamator-II assault ship, _Harm's Way_. Though old, she would serve well in the slugging match to come with her torpedo launchers and strong armor. The second was the _Imperial II_-class Star Destroyer, _Silver Gauntlet_, the group's heavy hitter, crewed by veterans loyal to Daala's cause. The third was the lynchpin of their efforts. Protect it at all costs, the Admiral had said, for this gambit would be lost without it. The third ship was an Interdictor cruiser, sleek and dagger-shaped, with four bulging gravity well generators. _Restraining Order_, as she was affectionately called, was crewed by Daala's best, members of her own personal defense fleet and temporarily ceded to the Kalbe System's commanding officer. As one, they entered hyperspace, making the brief jump that would drop them right on top of Antilles' support ships.

* * *

The moment Syal entered the Kalbe System, she realized something was wrong.

'They knew we were coming,' she muttered. 'Rogue Leader to all available units, omega signal! I say again, omega signal!'

Wedge caught only the tail end of the message when the _Tiger Claw_ dropped in behind her, but he knew instantly why Syal had given the order to retreat. The intel had been wrong or Daala's forces had been forewarned. Instead of two Star Destroyers and a small garrison of escorts, Kalbe Station was guarded by twice that size. Two _Venator_-class, one _Victory_-class, and one _Imperial II-_class, along with a considerably larger than expected screen of small craft. Even with the ships Wedge had brought along, they would be overwhelmed.

'Captain,' he said, 'prep us for hyperspace and a jump back!'

The Mon Calamari was about to agree when an alarm rang out on the bridge. 'No good, sir,' yelled one of the bridge officers, 'we're caught in a gravity well! Sensors show an Interdictor Cruiser in the middle of the Star Destroyer formation!'

'What about _Reef_, _Lance_, and _Gravitas_?' Wedge asked. 'Comms, get them on the horn.'

'This is _Zero Gravitas_,' said a voice, laced with static. Wedge could clearly hear the sounds of battle and bridge activity in the background. '_Tiger Claw_, the enemy has dropped a battle group right on top of us, including an Interdictor. We are unable to support you at this time, sir!'

Dammit, Wedge thought. They were all dead if he didn't think of something soon. They were outnumbered. That just meant his crew and fighter squadrons had to be better. And luckier. He hoped the old Antilles luck account hadn't run dry. He opened a comm channel to Luke.

'Luke, it's Wedge. Get to the bridge. We're going to need more of your Force meditation if we're going to squeeze through this alive.'

* * *

Thirteen TIE Hunters formed the speartip of the Maw's fighter formations. Arrayed in a wedge formation, Gold Squadron set their strike foils to attack position and hit the throttle. Behind them, dozens of Maw and mercenary fighters, ranging in quality from TIEs to Y-wings to Uglies, arranged themselves more or less haphazardly. Castor frowned at this lack of professionalism. Some, like the Maw's own Krayt Squadron and the Mandalorians' Beskar Squadron, made an effort to line up in formation with the Golds, ready to support if necessary. Others, like the piratical Vibroaxe Wing, failed to even fly by wing pairs, their pilots striking off on their own in their thirst for glory and credits. It would be their undoing here.

'Gold Zero to Squadron, tighten up and prep for head-to-head,' Castor relayed. 'One torpedo only. We'll spend the rest on the capital ship.'

On his sensor board, he saw that the Maw and its allies had brought more than twice the number of fighters that the Alliance had. His lips split into a predatory grin. This would be tough going, but victory was almost certain. Antilles and his forces would be annihilated here.

'Four to Zero, we're closing to maximum torp range,' said Castor's second.

'Acknowledged, Four. Gold Squadron, target the central X-wing squadron.'

'You think it's the Rogues, sir?' That was Twelve, the newest member of the team, still a greenhorn compared to the rest but with a hunger and aggression that would put many veterans to shame. It was clear that he smelled the bonus cash from bagging a Rogue Squadron kill.

'I'm almost certain, Twelve. Rogue Squadron always forms the leading edge of an Alliance advance.'

Just like us, he thought. As his distance counter ticked down, Castor switched to torpedoes and steadied his brackets over the closest X-wing. Hello, Rogue Leader, he thought.

His targeting brackets turned yellow. Torpedo lock. He fired.

* * *

Syal saw the torpedo coming as if in slow motion. Rookie mistake, she thought. A torpedo fired at maximum range almost never guaranteed a hit unless the pilot was spectacularly unlucky or being trailed by many, many more torps. Compared to concussion missiles, proton torpedoes handled like fat Hutts, boasting turning radii that were more suited for catching Y-wings than for hitting X-wings and TIEs. She held her fire, as did the Rogues. The torpedo closed in. Her grip on the control stick tensed. Not yet, she thought. Not yet.

_Now!_

She pulled hard on the stick, rotating her X-wing ninety degrees clockwise and nudging it slightly to port to get out of the torpedo's proximity sensors. The torp flashed past, slowly and futilely trying to catch her starfighter, which would be far beyond the torpedo's absolute maximum range in a few seconds. Three kilometers. She saw the TIE Hunters clearly, gray camouflage and gold wingtips and all. Visual range. They would have no time to dodge. She corrected her positioning and loosed a torpedo. The Rogues followed suit almost immediately. And in the space of another second, the two fighter screens had passed, the head-to-head over.

An explosion shook her cockpit. 'Leader to Rogues, check in.'

'Two here,' said Leda, a bit nervous but otherwise alive, 'all good.'

'Three, no damage.'

'Four, paint job's scratched.'

The rest of the Rogues answered more or less similarly. She breathed a sigh of relief that none of them had suffered Rogue Turnover Syndrome yet. Syal asked her astromech next. 'Spark, how's the situation back there?'

I AM FULLY FUNCTIONAL. YOUR TARGET SHOT YOUR TORPEDO OUT OF THE VOID. I HAVE RECORDED TWO TIE HUNTER KILLS, ONE BY ROGUE FIVE AND ONE BY ROGUE NINE.

'Good. Can you crack the Maw fleet's comm encryptions?'

ONE MOMENT. DONE. ESTABLISHING AUDIO FEED NOW.

Voices filled Syal's comlink feed from all over the danger zone. Some of them, mainly the cheaper mercenaries, spoke freely, panicked and unprofessional.

'-Three, I say again, I've lost Vibroaxe Three!'

'Dammit, Bantha, stay in formation!'

'Come on, you Alliance dogs! Come get-'

Some, however, maintained their calm. Those were the Maw forces and the true private military contractors. One voice, in particular, caught her ear.

'Gold Zero here, minimal damage from torpedo shrapnel. Squad, form up. We'll deal with the Mon Cal Cruiser.'

Baron Fel?

Syal opened an encrypted channel to Alpha Flight. 'Rogue Lead to Alphas, are you hearing this?'

Phennir responded. 'Alpha Three here, aye. Looks like the Baron can be in two places at once.'

'Can it, Three,' Fel said a moment later. 'Rogues, we'll take them. Push on and hit the space station.'

'Rogue Leader acknowledges, Alpha. Good hunting.'

She cut the feed and pulled up her targeting computer display. Ahead, Kalbe Station loomed, its defense batteries spraying fire across the battlefield. The plan was for the _Claw_ and the _Errant Venture_ to drain its shields with concentrated fire, but that depended on the rest of the fleet being on station to draw the fire of the enemy capital ships. Without their help, the Rogues would never be able to dent the thing's hull. Well, the outside of it, anyway.

'Rogue Leader to _Claw _and _Venture_, we're beginning our attack run on the station. Can you assist?'

Static first, then Wedge spoke. 'Negative, Rogue Leader, we're currently engaged with the enemy Star Destroyers. Recommend you break off your run.'

'General,' she said, 'we'll have a much easier time if we can silence that station. I've got a plan, but I'll need a blueprint of the _Titan_-class.'

A pause from comm-lag. 'Give us a moment, Rogue Leader,' Captain Tomar said. 'Data transfer in five.'

* * *

Wedge was surprised when he saw Mara hurry to the ship's bridge instead of Luke. The doctors had ordered her to rest for a few more days before resuming her pre-mortem duties just to make sure she was in proper fighting condition, but she had none of that.

'I told Luke to head to the hangar,' she explained. 'You need all the guns you can get out there, and I figure I'm fit enough to handle a bit of battle meditation.'

Wedge sighed. 'Alright, fine, if you're feeling up to it. Just don't hold me responsible when the doctors come to chew you out. Where's Luke now?'

'His X-wing, obviously,' Mara said, barely bothering to even hide her sarcasm.

Captain Tomar sensed what Wedge was thinking even without Force powers. 'General, I can handle the ship from here. Master Jade Skywalker is right. We need all the guns out there we can get.'

Wedge raised an eyebrow, seeing the gleam of wry amusement in the Mon Calamari's eyes. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Wedge found himself smiling.

'What?' Tomar asked, faking incredulity. 'I never said anything about you getting into a fighter, sir.'

'Right,' Mara agreed, 'what a preposterous idea.'

'You have the bridge, Captain,' Wedge said before making for the nearest elevator.

With that done, Tomar stretched his neck and planted both palms on his command console. Deftly, he began typing out commands to the ship's various departments, relaying coordinates for the gunnery crews, plotting maneuvering courses, and juggling the ship's power reserves among its various subsystems.

'Rogue Leader, data sent. Confirm you have the blueprint.'

'Rogue Leader confirms data inload,' Syal responded. 'Thanks, _Claw_.'

* * *

'Drakhai Five reports two more X-wings departing from the Mon Cal Cruiser,' said one of the mercenary pilots. The Drakhai were Cathar mercenaries, ferocious and tightly disciplined in Castor's opinion. 'Markings look similar to those on Rogue Squadron.'

Odd, Castor thought. The Rogues were only supposed to have twelve starfighters. Who were these newcomers? Extras pulled from reserve?

His questions were answered seconds later when the two X-wings flashed past his viewport, vaping Gold Nine and Ten on their first pass. One of the X-wings was close enough for him to see the single kill marking on the cockpit: an infinity symbol. Only one man in the galaxy could claim to have lost count of his kills. Gold Nine and Ten would be mourned later. Right now, the hunt had just become a whole lot more interesting.

'The hell?' Gold Four piped up. 'Is that a ribbon marking on the lead newbie?'

'No,' Castor replied. 'Infinity. An infinity symbol.'

This fight just got interesting. If the hearsay was right, then the odds had tipped significantly. This fight wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

* * *

Wedge's expression never changed from its trademark calm as he tracked laser fire across a flight of Maw TIEs. All four died, shot through the ball cockpits with pinpoint accuracy. He and Luke had taken down twelve starfighters in the past thirty seconds, most of them unskilled pirates who hadn't even gotten the basics of void maneuvering down before being stuck in TIEs or Uglies.

'All fighters, this is General Antilles,' he said on the allied band, 'you'll be seeing two more X-wings in Rogue reds flying around. Mark those as friendlies, Maverick One and Maverick Two.'

'Good to see the Iceman back in his natural environment,' Luke quipped as he formed up on Wedge's wing.

'Couldn't let you have all the fun now,' Wedge said, allowing himself a small smirk. Turning smartly on his port wing, Wedge banked to engage a squadron of TIE bombers. The sluggish, unshielded craft didn't stand a chance. Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles, old friends, wingmen once more, dove into the bomber formation like a pair of vornskrs in a Jedi daycare, lasers cycling as fast as possible.

* * *

Syal had ordered the Rogues to break by flights. Two Flight had gone on to engage one of the Maw's CR90 corvettes while Three Flight danced with the enemy's fighter formations. One Flight, though, had another job.

'Surely you can't be serious,' Beiner breathed.

'Oh, I'm serious,' Syal said, 'and don't call me Shirley.'

The blueprints showed that the _Titan_-class space station's hangars contained massive elevators for transporting ordnance and stored starfighters from nearby hangar decks, as well as a number of connected maintenance shafts and exhaust port networks. They just so happened to be large enough for a starfighter or four to fly through.

'Rogue Leader to Flight, form up on me.'

Windspeaker caught on immediately to her plan. 'Boss, Three. Is this some sort of rite of passage for you Antilles folk?'

'Pretty much,' Syal remarked, putting power into shields and acceleration. 'Tighten up formation and set shields to double front.'

Spark let out a long tone, approximating an astromech sigh. I HATE THIS JOB, it said.

Syal ignored that and sped through the laser fire, dodging the increasingly panicked fire from the station's turrets as she aimed for the nearest open hangar. The station's defenders figured out her plan too late. By the time the hangar doors began to close, One Flight was already inside. Running laser fire across the hangar's floor and walls, the four Rogues pulled up the moment they reached the end of the narrow space, climbing into the starfighter and cargo elevator shaft. Seeing one elevator on the way down, Syal immediately tri-linked her torpedoes and fired, disintegrating the platform.

'Ack!' Beiner exclaimed.

'Four, you still with me?'

'Still here, Lead. Piece of debris bounced off my shields is all.'

They continued through the elevators and service tunnels, sending laser blasts through power conduits and fuel lines as they tore through the station. Syal kept the blueprint up in the corner of her display, relying on sheer reflex to follow the best path out as Kalbe Station began lockdown procedures, great blast doors shutting slowly to cut neighboring compartments off from one another. Such a system was originally designed to contain fires or boarders with infantry equipment. Its builders certainly never anticipated starfighter attack runs from the inside.

'How did they get inside? What the hell is going on?' exclaimed one of the officers aboard the station.

'Fire on decks one through seven! Secondary explosions ripping through our hull!'

'What sort of maniac flies an X-wing through a space station?'

Syal ignored the enemy chatter and broke hard to port in an arc so tight that her flight harness dug painfully into her shoulders, the inertial compensator settings insufficient for the insane maneuvering she and One Flight were pulling. Sideslip, roll, climb, break, turn. There was no time for thought, no time for planning. It all boiled down to sheer luck and balls, laughing in the face of certain death as they squeezed out every ounce of talent and shield power they could. Syal fired another torpedo into a shut blast door up ahead, adding a constant barrage of laser fire for good measure. Leda and Windspeaker, who flew behind and to the sides, did the same, their combined firepower atomizing the door. As one, the four Rogues inverted and dove into another cargo elevator shaft, sowing destruction as they went. In the space of five minutes, they'd traveled the length of the station and emerged via the hangar on the side opposite the one they entered. Beiner whooped as he saw secondary explosions and venting atmosphere in his rear camera feed. The station's guns had fallen silent.

'Please tell me this isn't going to be a recurring thing with us,' Leda said.

'No promises, Two. Now let's get back to the furball.'

'Yub yub, Commander,' Beiner said, copying Syal's turn as she headed straight for the thickest part of the furball. It wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.


	14. 13: Starside Rendezvous

13

Starside Rendezvous

Three more squadrons fell to the Grim Reaper's scythe in the Kalbe System. Wedge Antilles took his starfighter into a steep climb as he chased a Maw TIE Interceptor, nudging his stick with the slightest of motions to maintain his aim. Switching to lasers, he held the trigger down, his cannons cycling on dual-fire as they led the Interceptor. One pair of laser bolts clipped its port solar wing array, throwing the fighter off course. Wedge corrected and fired again, this time landing a shot that connected with the engines, turning the TIE into a smoky fireball. The Interceptor's wingmate to starboard fared no better. Luke had skewered the cockpit with a laser blast that left the pilot vaporized and the TIE floating dead in the void.

'Nova Leader here,' said one of the B-wing pilots in the _Claw_'s fighter complement, 'the Interdictor's vulnerable. Requesting support as we begin our attack run.'

Wedge craned his neck, spotting the Interdictor cruiser that had trapped the Alliance forces in the system. One of its protectors, the _Victory_ Star Destroyer, had been destroyed by focused fire from the _Errant Venture_ and her starfighter squadrons. Nova Squadron's B-wings, with their midnight blue wingtips and golden starburst emblems, sped towards the Interdictor, opening up with their torpedoes at maximum range.

'Maverick One here,' Wedge said, 'we'll keep the fighters off your tail, Nova.'

'Maverick, Nova. Much obliged.'

Luke and Wedge broke away from the furball around the _Tiger Claw_, making straight for the B-wings.

'Two, systems check.'

Luke quickly scanned his instrument panels. 'All green here. Six torpedoes in reserve, about three hours' dogfighting left in my tanks.'

'Good,' Wedge replied, 'let's do this.'

Artoo beeped enthusiastically. Luke chuckled. 'Easy there, Artoo. You'll get plenty of action soon enough.'

* * *

Captain Tomar watched with mounting despair as the battle continued. Though the Alliance starfighters looked to be winning their dogfights, the capital ship battle was going poorly. One of the _Claw_'s shields had collapsed, forcing him to keep the cruiser in constant motion as he rotated the remaining shields to breach the gap. Under more peaceful circumstances, the Alliance's naval commanders would have lauded the maneuvers Tomar and the crew pulled as positively balletic. Fires had erupted on several decks, forcing the ship to vent atmosphere and leave a number of their weapon arrays unmanned. Though the _Claw_ still had plenty of teeth, the sheer number of enemy ships present would wear her down inexorably. The _Errant Venture_ fared similarly, the undergunned Star Destroyer bleeding from numerous hull wounds, her few surviving weapons firing erratically as she battled a _Venator_.

'Weapons, divert power from port turbolaser batteries nine through twelve to starboard one, three, five, and six!' the captain ordered, drawing up targeting solutions for his gunnery crews. Outside in the void, four enemy corvettes and three Nebulon-B frigates had been gutted by the MC100's massive guns. 'Torpedo spread, two volleys, on the _Venture_'s target on my mark, via these coordinates! Three, two, one, mark!'

The bridge vibrated slightly as the MC100's ordnance launchers fired, sending a swarm of capital ship-sized torps into a seam between the _Venator_'s ventral and dorsal shields. The first volley popped them like a bubble. The second tore great gouges in the older vessel's side, ripping through its broadside gun decks and hangars and sowing a number of secondary explosions along the hull. A ragged cheer rose from the beleaguered bridge crew as they saw the _Venator_ listing badly to one side. Seeing the advantage, Booster Terrik's strike craft sped into missile range, strafing the wound and widening it even further. A massive explosion tore through the Star Destroyer's hull. Booster's fighters had probably hit a main fuel cell. Regardless, they were still outnumbered and outgunned. The remaining _Venator_ and her _Imperial II _cousin had maneuvered in front of the Interdictor, blocking the shots meant for their smaller sister ship. Tomar bit back a curse. Unless the Alliance forces could kill the Interdictor, they would be ground down by sheer weight of numbers. He would make sure their deaths cost the Maw greatly, but he would have preferred not dying at all to these pirates.

Where was the Imperial fleet? Their promised rendezvous with the _Claw_ should have happened hours ago, before the _Claw_'s departure from the Sonteg System staging area. Were they held up as well? Ambushed, perhaps? Or were Baron Fel and his pilots the only trustworthy men left in the Galactic Emp-

'New hyperspace arrivals! Five Star Destroyers, three _Imperial_ _II_ and two _Turbulent-_class!' yelled one of the bridge officers.

They were undone. Tomar slumped in the command seat. With that many new capital ships, the _Claw_ and _Venture_ would be annihilated in minutes. Tomar prepared to relay gunnery commands for one last blaze of glory when that same bridge officer whooped happily.

'What?' Tomar asked. 'Lieutenant, sitrep!'

'Sir,' the officer said, 'one of the _Turbulent_ Destroyers is hailing us, identifying as _Bloodfin_!'

'Well, don't just stand there, Lieutenant, get them on the horn!' Reinvigorated, the Mon Calamari captain switched to his comms display and activated the hololith on the bridge. In seconds, the machine rendered a three-dimensional image of the _Bloodfin_'s commanding officer. Tomar tilted his head in puzzlement. Strange. According to the latest reports, Vitor Reige was in command of that ship. The image before him was not that of Reige. Either way, the sight of a friendly shipmaster was a welcome one.

'Admiral,' the Mon Calamari rasped, saluting eagerly. 'It's about damn time you Imps joined the fight.'

'Kept you waiting, huh, Captain?' asked the Imperial admiral. 'Apologies. We were busy dealing with the other Interdictor's escort along the way.'

As if on cue, _Firelance_, _Black Reef_, _Zero Gravitas_, and five more Imperial capital ships dropped out of hyperspace alongside the _Tiger Claw_, damaged and battered but not beaten. Immediately, they began adding their firepower to the battle.

Captain Tomar began to laugh. In the space of a few seconds, the odds had tipped so utterly it seemed comical, like something out of those cheap holodramas or novels.

'Very good, Admiral. The field is yours. Lead the way, sir.'

* * *

Baron Fel rolled his craft, barely dodging a torpedo fired from the gold-wing TIE Hunter with whom he dueled. This pilot was good, he thought. _Very_ good. Fel was almost certain the enemy he faced was his clone. Nobody else could so easily mimic and predict his maneuvers. Thus far, neither had been able to land a hit, their shots always just barely missing. Fel turned his Defender 180 degrees and pursued the Hunter as it arced down behind the Mon Calamari Cruiser's hull. The Hunter armed its torpedo launchers but failed to actually loose any shots. Maintaining a constant barrage of laser and ion fire, Fel kept his prey busy, forcing him to juke and dodge rather than line up targeting solutions.

'Gold Zero, this is Four,' said one of Castor's wingmen, distressed and angry, 'I'm trying to get to you but I have a Defender on my tail!'

'This is Gold Twelve,' replied another pilot, his voice full of barely constrained aggression, 'move aside. I'll kill the Baro-'

Gold Twelve's threat never came to fruition. His sentence was interrupted by an explosion as a quad-linked laser blast blew holes in his starboard strike foils.

'Sure,' said a third pilot, his voice that of a Bastion native, 'you do that, pirate. Alpha Leader, this is Alpha Nine. Pleased to finally be in the fight.'

Above Fel's viewport, a pair of TIE Defenders in the 181st's trademark colors sped ahead, chasing two of the TIE Hunters. One of the Hunters was bleeding smoke and fire from his wing.

Baron Fel grinned. 'Acknowledged, Alpha Nine. Stele, Phennir, return to your own squadrons and resume your old callsigns.'

The two generals uttered affirmatives and broke away from one another to lead the 181st's Beta and Gamma Squadrons, which had just emerged from _Bloodfin_'s hangars fresh and hungry for war. Fel opened a channel to _Bloodfin_.

'Alpha Leader to _Bloodfin_, glad you could finally make it. What took you?'

'This and that, Baron. Either way, we're here. Ready to win this war?'

'Damn right, old man. It's good to have you back.'

The TIE Hunter had stopped his attack run prematurely and closed his strike foils, dumping power into acceleration. 'Gold Leader to Squadron, break away and form up on me.'

'Lead, Twelve. Most of the new guys are squints. We've got the ordnance to handle them.'

'Negative, Twelve,' Castor replied, 'form up. I've got something else in mind.'

'Beta Leader to Alpha Leader,' Phennir said, 'should we pursue?'

'Negative,' Fel said. 'Most of them are too far for us to catch anyway. Right now, our priority is taking the bombers and smaller capital ships off the _Tiger Claw_ and _Errant Venture_.'

'Beta, solid copy.'

* * *

Syal's X-wing was ablaze as she flew through the hole her torpedoes had punched into a _Crusader_-class corvette. A brief glance at her instrument panel told her that only cosmetic damage had been inflicted by her admittedly reckless maneuver. Fire licked at her shields and hull, soot and superficial burns leaving most of her fighter's normally gray armor jet black.

'_Shab_,' cursed one of the enemy officers in Mandalorian, 'who are these guys? They took out _Manifest Destiny_ and her escort in minutes!'

Skewering an enemy Scyk Interceptor in her crosshairs, Syal fired a quad-linked laser blast and veered away, hunting for another target. An update to the kill feed told her that her target had gone down in flames. She looked at her sensor display and saw two flights of hostiles on a course that would take them past the Rogues.

'_Claw_, this is Rogue Leader, I see eight Hunters heading right for planet Besh-7R.'

'Acknowledged, Rogue Leader. Pursue them.'

'Rogue Nine here,' Aresh said, 'they're trying to draw us away from the fight.'

'That may be, Nine,' Syal responded, 'but they may be about to shoot up the civilians groundside as well. We've won this fight, so Daala's forces might have been instructed to adopt a scorched earth policy.'

'I don't like it, Boss,' said Aresh.

'I know, Nine. Just in case, I'll take One and Two Flights to pursue. You and Three Flight will remain up here to handle the space battle.'

'Nine to Lead. Solid copy. Good hunting.'

Inverting her craft, Syal led the Rogues' descent into Besh-7R's nearly cloudless day side. Castor spotted them a few minutes later, an octet of bright glowing comets, their orbital entry flares and flickering shields brilliant in the midday light. If he hadn't been raised in civilized times, he would have likened the sight to a band of angels descending to the world, sent by some vengeful god to exact justice on them all. He shook his head. He always did have an overactive imagination. He checked his sensor board and was pleased to see the recovery shuttles still operating and on station. The mercenaries that Castor had sent to wait on the planet's surface would need their services soon enough.

The Drakhai pilots had disengaged from the space battle in an orderly fashion, leaving a number of Imperial TIEs in various states of disrepair. The Beskar units, badly mauled by the Infinity fighter and his wingman, had left in quite a bit more disarray, losing several of their number to enemy point defenses and pursuing squadrons. No doubt, the Mandalorians' cultural superiority complex had been badly shaken by the fact that they had been bested by two Alliance fighter jocks. He wondered if any of them recognized one of the pilots' Death Star kill silhouettes as belonging to Luke Skywalker. They would be livid at the idea of being bested by one Jedi._  
_

'Gold Zero to all craft, time to hunt some wild dogs. Down them all.'

'Drakhai Squadron,' said the Cathar mercenaries' leader, 'follow Gold Squadron and arm missiles.'

'Beskar Squadron,' added the leader of the few surviving Mandalorians left in the system, 'likewise. Link your targeting computers to mine.'

Beiner was the first to see the enemy fighters arrayed against the Rogues. He let out a low whistle. Sixteen starfighters, all of them shielded, all of them quite a bit more dangerous than the average TIE Fighter or Ugly. Eight TIE Hunters, four Dunelizards, and a varied quartet consisting of a Y-wing, a Z-95, a Cloakshape, and a Preybird. The latter four were no doubt heavily modified.

'That's a hell of a welcoming party, Lead.'

'I copy, Four,' Syal said, opening a line to the fleet above. 'Rogue Leader requesting support, any allied units. Three Flight, Maverick Team, 181st, are any of you able to assist?'

Static. Atmospherics and the planet's massive mineral deposits played hell with their comms. Syal gritted her teeth, mentally kicking herself for falling for such an obvious trap. There was no running now. The Rogues and the Maw fighters were so close to engagement range that running would only leave them vulnerable to a flurry of torpedoes and missiles up the tailpipe.

'Leader to Rogues, loosen up and arm torpedo launchers. Don't bother with ammo or power conservation here. The only rule is to survive.'

She risked a brief look down at the ground. Scattered across the plateau below were the wrecks of countless starfighters, too numerous for her to name. It was beautiful in an eerie, macabre fashion, the sight of fighter craft old and new intermingled on the ground, the remains of aces of all ranks. She just hoped she didn't join them any time soon.

'Alliance dogs,' growled Gold Twelve.

'This is the Round Table,' Syal said, her voice cold and calm. 'Dead men's words hold no meaning.'

The two fighter formations closed to maximum weapons range. For the first time in decades, missile contrails filled the heavens above the Round Table, and the dead were eager to welcome new companions.

* * *

Aboard _Bloodfin_'s bridge, Imperial officers bustled to and fro with scarcely a word. They were the Empire's best and brightest, calm and professional, having toured the galaxy on this and countless other ships many times in the past. They knew the Admiral's playbook so well he hardly had to relay orders verbally anymore. They knew immediately to strike for the heart, pushing for the Interdictor while the other Star Destroyers busied themselves with pulverizing Daala's own capital ships. The weapons officer, satisfied that the Alliance's fighters had broken away to avoid becoming collateral damage, sent the order to the gunnery decks to volley fire.

The first shots shredded the Interdictor's shields, _Bloodfin's_ weaponry comparable to those found on her larger Star Destroyer siblings. The second perforated the Interdictor's hull, blowing apart the gravity well generators and punching cleanly through its hull, leaving it dead in the void. The third was overkill, a coup de grace that decapitated its command tower and destroyed its fuel cells, setting off a chain reaction that left the Maw ship nothing more than a cloud of scraps and burnt credits.

Gilad Pellaeon watched the destruction with a mixture of pride and sadness. Pride in his crew for their skills and initiative, but sadness also that his first mission in years was against an old friend. Contrary to the reports released by tabloid media following the Battle of Fondor, he _had _survived. Barely. When Boba Fett's mercenaries stormed _Bloodfin_ during the Second Galactic Civil War, they found him stubbornly clinging to life despite the grievous blaster wounds in his chest. The events that followed had remained a blur in his memory. A cunningly disguised stasis unit, a faked funeral to allay Daala's suspicions, and a rapid transfer to a hospital on Bastion. There, he had spent years drifting in and out of consciousness as the doctors and medical droids fought to bring him back from the brink. Even he had been surprised at his own survival. When he had fully regained consciousness and control of his body, he had emerged into a different galaxy, one where Natasi Daala fought not to make the galaxy a more orderly place, but to pillage and burn, to feed an army of pirates that clashed not just with the Galactic Alliance but with the Empire he had fought so hard to rebuild.

Pellaeon hated the thought of warring with an old friend. He held no sympathy for these pirates, but even so, he hoped that when the time came, he would be the one to make Daala answer for her crimes. At least he was out of that damn bacta tank. And he had to say, it felt good to be back. He had been away from his duties for far too long. Pellaeon leaned forward in the command chair and pulled up a holo of the battlefield.

'Gunnery, switch targets to that ImpStar Deuce's engines. Navigation, let's see how good this old girl is on the turn, eh?'

The bridge officers barked affirmatives and set to work. Pellaeon smiled despite the circumstances of the war, despite the dangers to crew and life and limb. Oh yes, he thought, it definitely felt good to be back._  
_


	15. 14: In the Lap of the Gods

14

In the Lap of the Gods

_I'll never forget that day above the Round Table. The day we fought Rogue Squadron. We were young, then, full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the galaxy. We fought like hell, we all did. Gold Squadron, the shinies in TIE Hunters, instructed us to lay in wait on repulsors above the Table, where the environmental conditions would hide our sensor signatures. When we jumped the Rogues, the odds had been two-to-one. Even in X-wings, we thought, they couldn't be that good. Oh, how wrong we were. When I actually went for the head-to-head, I knew I was done. I saw the Reaper, looked it right in the eye. That damned black X-wing, the burned one, and the never-ending tone of enemy laser locks. I locked up in fear. Some days, I still wonder where it had gone so wrong, whether I could redeem the dishonor I brought to my clan._ \- Tyrno Skirata (ret.), Beskar Leader, interviewed 46 ABY

_[Chuckles] We Cathar are a dying breed. When I engaged Rogue Squadron in the heavens above Besh-7R, I thought for sure that someone back home would have to mark four more young Cathar hotshots off the list, especially when I realized that we'd been pulled into a dance with Rogue Squadron. They were just eight pilots, but I'd seen them in the stars. They fought like fifty. I'm not ashamed to say they shot me and my team down. It would have been a good way to die, fighting against aces like them. I alone survived to eject. When I saw the Reaper's bird flash above me, I took it as a sign. A second chance. To leave the mercenary life, to return home and do something useful for what few kinsmen I have left instead of wasting my days on credits and whores. - _Khas Jadar, Drakhai Leader (ret.), interviewed in 46 ABY

* * *

Syal braked hard and rotated her craft, pulling it into a tight turn as the head-to-head ended, skewering one of the Dunelizards in her crosshairs. Laser lock. She fired, sending quad-linked blasts into the tailpipe of one of the Mandalorian craft.

'Dammit!' yelled one of the Mandalorian fighters. 'Beskar Leader's down! Lead is down!'

As her X-wing passed the destroyed fighter, she saw the cockpit break away and watched as its occupant ejected. She hoped the pilot's flight suit and ejector system were up to snuff. Choking on the planet's toxic atmosphere was a fate she wouldn't wish on anyone. Searching for another target, Syal accelerated to the furball's edge and K-turned, setting her sights on one of the mercenary craft, a Y-wing whose engine frames had been shortened, the rigid connectors linking the engines to the fuselage replaced by a tiltjet system that allowed it a degree of unpredictability and maneuverability its stock cousins could only hope to enjoy.

'Two,' she said, 'you still with me?'

'Here, Rogue Leader,' Leda replied.

'Break to starboard. Let's break the wishbone.'

Rogue Two complied and left her wingmate's side, maneuvering to pincer the Y-wing.

'Cute gimmick, Wishbone,' Syal muttered before loosing a proton torpedo, dodging the ion turret's blasts as she closed to point-blank range. Leda did the same a second later. Caught between two torpedoes at close range, the Y-wing couldn't dodge in time. It erupted into an oily, smoky fireball, its parts raining down to join the graveyard below.

'Splash one, splash one,' said Leda as she resumed covering Syal.

* * *

Vigil had no time to confirm kills. With the sheer number of hostiles flying around, all he could do was acquire a target, fire, then reacquire, never focusing on a single bogey for more than a few seconds. He and Rogue Six damaged one of the Dunelizards then cut off their pursuit, switching to the modded Cloakshape, which had been fitted with shields, wing stabilizers, and a rear-targeting concussion missile tube. Switching to quad-fire, he lanced the big fighter with a direct hit, popping its shields. He turned away when he heard a missile lock tone, trusting his wingman to administer the finishing blow.

'Statement,' Ninety droned, 'Rogue Six, splash one.'

Vigil saw the Cloakshape's wreckage plummeting to the surface along with a wind-tossed ejector seat. Instead of searching for new fighters to target, Ninety circled around and flew right for the extravehicular pilot. Dammit, Vigil thought, now is _not_ the time to activate assassination protocols!

'Rogue Six, what are you doing?'

'Statement: Rogue Six is moving to engage downed pilot.'

'Negative, negative, Six, form up on me and resume dogfight.'

'Protest-'

'_Now_, Six. Alliance rules of engagement forbid hitting retreating craft and ejected pilots. We have bigger fish to fry.'

A pause. 'Statement: Rogue Six complies.'

Ninety yawed slightly to port, rocketing past the pilot at uncomfortably close range. No doubt, the merc would be temporarily deafened by the engine noise. If they both survived this, he would have to figure out some way of reining the droid in for future engagements. Ascending to the top of the furball, Vigil inverted and dove towards a pair of TIE Hunters currently chasing Nodra and Rosharra. He saw that one of the Hunters was damaged, hulled through the starboard strike foils. The damage had also affected its handling, it seemed, as the pilot had a harder time keeping up with the two X-wings' maneuvers than his wingman did.

Descending on the wounded Hunter, Vigil set his lasers to dual fire and led his target at long range, tracking a stream of laser bolts along the path he predicted the TIE would take. His attempts at sniping were rewarded when he saw the TIE's shields flicker and fizzle into nothingness. It and the wingman broke off pursuit then and turned to meet Vigil and Ninety.

'Seven to Five, thanks for the save,' Nodra said.

'Yub yub, Seven.'

Vigil and Ninety ignored the intact Hunter and ganged up on their damaged target. Chivalry in the skies was good and all, but threat suppression came first. The two X-wings split and wove, their paths putting the TIE Hunter in a crossfire situation. The Hunter tipped its nose upward, attempting to use its thrust and the drag generated by the maneuver to put itself behind the X-wings. It might have worked if the fighter was completely intact, but the maneuver sheared off its already damaged starboard strike foils. Vigil and Ninety put it out of its misery and shot the cockpit.

'Good kill, Six,' Vigil said.

'Statement: Hostile on my tail, Five.'

Vigil cut throttle as he saw Ninety's X-wing moving to overtake him, trying to draw the pursuing TIE into Vigil's sights. Sure enough, he saw Ninety's X-wing maneuvering erratically, sideslipping and rolling to dodge the laser fire the second Hunter was firing. Vigil climbed to keep the TIE's tail level with his sights and accelerated. He gritted his teeth, twitching the stick to and fro to keep his crosshairs near the TIE, but this guy was damn good. Vigil struggled to predict where the TIE would be next and, with distress, he saw it closing with Ninety's tail. If he got any closer, he would be able to switch to torpedoes and-

'This one's for Twelve,' said a Gold Squadron pilot as he did exactly that. Two proton torpedoes lanced out and hit Ninety's tail. There was no way any starfighter's shielding could take that sort of punishment, even at maximum power. IG-90's X-wing exploded. Vigil didn't see an ejector seat.

The Gold Squadron pilot celebrated his victory a bit too early. For a second, he stopped dodging and flew straight.

'You'll see him again soon enough,' Vigil broadcast before planting his last two torpedoes in the Hunter's tailpipe.

Vigil's astromech, a chunky R5 he'd named Brick, beeped cheerfully. ROGUE FIVE, SPLASH ONE.

* * *

'Son of a Bith!' Beiner exclaimed. His X-wing had taken a concussion missile blast to the starboard side, shearing the strike foils off completely. Though his engines remained undamaged, he had lost half his firepower in one fell swoop and had become far less aerodynamic.

'Four,' Windspeaker said, pulling alongside his wingman for a look, 'do you still have control? Not seeing damage to your engines or main fuselage.'

'I'm good, Three, thanks. Wobbly, but airworthy.'

'Good. Stay close. I'll try to tank some of the hits.'

The two X-wings broke to port, setting their sights on the last two Dunelizards. One of those had been the fighter that damaged Beiner's X-wing. Though damaged, Four's XJ-7 still had the maneuvering advantage here, possessing a tighter turning radius than the bulky Mandalorian fighters, whose attempts to dodge took them in a painfully wide arc upwards. Switching to torpedoes, Windspeaker closed in on the lead fighter. He heard the target lock and pulled the stick up, aiming about a kilometer or two ahead of the Dunelizard before firing and switching to target one of the TIE Hunters. Beiner did the same with the wingman. Seconds later, the kill feed listed two Dunelizards downed by proton torps.

'Beskar Three ejecting!' yelled one of the Mandalorians. 'Two! Two, are you still there?'

Silence from the other craft.

'Next target,' Windspeaker muttered.

* * *

Nodra and Rosharra formed up on Vigil, their X-wings battered by the TIEs' pinpoint fire. Nodra's torpedo tubes had been slagged, preventing him from lending any long-ranged ordnance to the fight lest he go down in a fireball. Rosharra had shut down one of her engines after a shot from Gold Twelve had set it aflame. Only Vigil's X-wing remained undamaged. After losing Ninety, the three surviving members of Two Flight downed the rest of the Drakhai Squadron, avenging their lost squadmate. Neither of the two remaining Cathar pilots survived.

'Bloody hell,' Nodra breathed, 'these odds are insane, even for us.'

'Five here, there's a saying back on Corellia for situations like this.'

'Eight to Five, let's hear it.'

'Odds are for pussies.' Vigil cut the feed and turned to engage the TIE Hunters. Six remained in operation and they looked to be giving the rest of the Rogues the fight of their lives. This was going to be bloody, regardless of one's regard for statistics and probability.

* * *

Castor's chrono beeped. They were almost out of time. He bit back a curse. He had hoped to get the Rogues back for the loss of so many of his pilots, but he had his orders. The Rogues themselves had lost one pilot, but Gold Squadron would not be content until the Rogues had suffered the same fate as the downed Hunters.

He would have succeeded, too, were it not for the black X-wing, undoubtedly piloted by Rogue Leader. Castor rolled and dove, trying to break Syal's laser lock as he moved to kill Leda's stricken fighter.

'Two to Lead, I can't shake this guy!'

Syal grimaced as she fought to keep the Hunter in her sights. 'Stay calm, Two. I'm on him.'

Castor smiled as he finally got a good lock tone. Not today, Rogue Two. He ran laser fire down the X-wing's fuselage, tearing its aft end to pieces and perforating the astromech. He heard a yell of pain on the comm and saw the pilot eject. Bobbing his wings in salute, Castor turned away and hit his afterburners to exit the danger zone.

'Gold Leader to Squadron, our time is up. Disengage and retreat.'

'What?' Gold Four was furious. 'Lead, we can't just-'

'We'll be back to the Round Table soon enough,' he said in a placating tone. 'For now, repairs and maintenance. We barely have enough fuel to get home as it is.'

Four sighed. 'Four to Lead, I copy. Gold Squadron, let's go.'

Without another word, the TIE Hunters and surviving Dunelizard broke atmo and retreated. The retrieval shuttle busied itself with picking up the ejected Maw and mercenary pilots. Alliance rules of engagement forbade shooting down medical vessels anyway, so there was no danger of the Rogues vaping the shuttle.

* * *

'That's it?' Vigil asked. 'They're just leaving like that?'

Syal kept her voice dead calm, forcing her anger to subside. 'That's right, Five. And we'll let them leave, too. We're all low on fuel and power anyway, and Two needs medevac as soon as possible. All of you, head on back to the _Claw_ and call for medevac. I'll stay here with Two.'

'Five here,' Vigil said morosely, 'Two Flight complies.'

'Three and Four, too,' said Windspeaker.

While Syal continued to circle her wingmate, the remaining X-wings pulled up and ascended back into space. Though still spoiling for a fight with Gold Squadron, their fighters would need repairs and rearming. Vigil just hoped the space battle was over. By the time they landed in the _Claw_'s hangars, the adrenaline rush would probably wear off and leave them all half-dead from the stresses of dogfighting.

Beiner chuckled, surprised at his luck. He opened a comm channel to his wingman. 'Yo, buddy, still alive?'

* * *

Pellaeon sat back in his command chair with a weary sigh. It was done. The enemy ships had fought to the last man, but the battle was over. On the bridge hololith, damage reports and status readouts ran down in a long string of text. Though the Imperial fleet had suffered minimal damage, the _Tiger Claw_ and _Errant Venture_ were both badly mauled, as were their three belated escorts. All of them would need some time behind the front lines in order to effect proper repairs. While that happened, he would have to see to the defense of the Kalbe system. Already, he had ordered salvage and repair crews deployed to siphon fuel from the enemy ships and restore the space station to fighting form. Out of caution, he had also ordered Imperial marines and commandos to board the station first to clear it of any stragglers. He needn't have worried._  
_

'Delta Team to _Bloodfin,' _crackled the ship's comm system. The commando unit in question was probably deep inside the station, judging by the interference.

'_Bloodfin_ here, send traffic,' he said.

'Admiral, most of the station's clear. Hard vacuum in a lot of places and artificial gravity's out. Repair teams are working on patching breaches and fixing life support as we speak. We've also taken some prisoners, mostly command staff. What do you want us to do with them, sir?'

Pellaeon looked at the diagram of Kalbe Station, noting the massive damage the Rogues' rampage had done to its hull. Impressive, he had to admit, though the damage would take ages to repair. 'Very good, Delta,' he said. 'I'm recalling all combat teams from the station to make way for more of our repair crews. Take the prisoners back with you for questioning.'

Delta's leader replied, 'Aye aye, sir. See you in a few. IC-1138 out.'


	16. 15: Hang On in There

15

Hang On in There

Syal collapsed wearily on her bed, letting out a long, slow exhalation. Her flight suit, crumpled and drenched in sweat, sat in her refresher's washing unit. Clad in a spare set of loose fatigues, hair still wet from the quick shower she'd taken, she spent several minutes silently looking up at the ceiling until she heard a knock on the door.

With a groan, she sat up and tried to straighten herself out. 'Come in,' she called out.

The door slid open to reveal Luke, still geared up in his own flight suit and looking rather comical with his helmet hair. Syal fought to suppress a smirk and raised a hand to salute before Luke stopped her.

'No need for that, Syal,' he said with a smile, 'just here to talk. Nothing formal. Wedge had to run to a staff meeting.'

'Alright then, Uncle Luke,' she said, 'let's talk. What about?'

The Jedi took a seat on the chair in front of Syal's desk, where a datapad and several sheets of briefing notes lay scattered haphazardly. A family holo from Syal's childhood sat above the desk on a shelf, along with a number of books and datapads about starfighters, warfare, history, and astronavigation. Luke plucked one from the shelf and looked at the cover with a nod of approval.

'_Aces at War_,' Luke said, reading the cover aloud. 'Good read, I've got a copy myself. How are you doing?'

She shrugged. 'Alright, I suppose. I'm worried about Leda, my wingmate. She took a bad shrapnel hit when she ejected. A piece of her fighter got lodged in her thigh.'

Luke winced. 'Ouch. Will she be alright?'

Syal rubbed at tired eyes. 'The doctors tell me she's stable. She'll probably make it through okay, but they're not sure how much damage was done to the rest of her body. Her ejector system's mag-con field unit took a bit of damage, so she may have some respiratory problems from breathing in a bit of Besh-7R's toxic atmosphere. They also don't know if they'll be able to save her leg.'

'That's tough, Syal. I'm sorry. Seeing one of your pilots injured is never easy.'

'Well, on the bright side, we at least managed to get her back safely,' Syal said, forcing a smile. 'And as for Ninety, he'll probably be alright.'

Luke raised an eyebrow and frowned. 'Ninety? Your droid pilot, right? Didn't he get vaped?'

'Yeah, but he was smart enough to keep a backup of his memory stored on a data core in his quarters. His flight leader's working on getting the memory updated with records of today's events. We won't have another droid body for Ninety for a bit, but it's good to know that we have at least one pilot who can come back from the dead.'

Luke chuckled. 'Yeah, seems like resurrection's becoming a bit of a fad these days.'

'I'm not complaining. I'm glad to see Auntie Mara again,' Syal said.

'So am I,' Luke said with a grin and got up from his seat. 'Sorry, I can see you're practically dead on your feet as is. I'll let you catch some shut-eye.'

Syal yawned and stretched with a touch more melodrama than necessary. 'Awesome. Good talking with you, Uncle Luke. G'night.'

Luke patted her on the shoulder. 'Night, Rogue Leader. Try to relax once in a while, will you? You're doing great so far. No need to worry so much.'

Syal grumbled a sleepy response, dropped, and fell asleep the moment her back hit the bed. Luke made sure the door was shut before anyone outside could hear her snoring and went for his own quarters. Mara, leaning on the wall outside, pushed off and matched Luke's pace.

'Everything okay?' Mara asked.

'Syal's going to be fine. She's just tired is all.'

'Oh, good,' Mara replied. 'You know, I still haven't forgiven you for that little Ewok prank.'

'Me?' Luke feigned offense. 'Mara, how could you assume it was me? I'd never be that amateurish. That was the Wraiths.'

'Wait, what?'

Luke bobbed his head in an exaggerated fashion. 'Oyah. You aren't a _Tiger Claw_ crewman until you've gotten a visit from Lieutenant Kettch. Or Padawan Kettch, in your case.'

'Really,' she deadpanned, crossing her arms.

'Yub yub, Commander,' said Luke.

Mara rolled her eyes and picked up the pace, grabbing Luke's collar and half-dragging him to their shared quarters on the ship. 'Alright, Farm Boy, I'll let that one slide,' she said mischievously. 'Especially since right now, we've got some catching up to do.'

'Don't you mean K-'_  
_

'Farm Boy, if you finish that pun, you'll be sleeping in the pilots' lounge tonight.'

Luke rolled his eyes. 'Alright,' he conceded, 'but try to be discreet about things. I don't want "Skywalker duty" becoming a thing with the crew here like it was back in the Praxeum.'

Mara turned and looked him dead in the eye, pulling Luke close. 'No promises,' she stage-whispered.

* * *

In the _Tiger Claw_'s communications center, Wedge stood before a semicircle of holograms, all images depicting Alliance and Imperial shipmasters. In the center of the semicircle hovered a holographic facsimile of Grand Admiral Pellaeon. For a guy who had been half-comatose for nearly five years, Pellaeon looked like the spitting image of health.

'Admiral,' Wedge said, saluting, 'thanks for the save earlier today. If you hadn't gotten here when you did, I'm not sure the _Claw_ or _Errant Venture_ would still be here.'

Off to the side, Booster Terrik mumbled a grudging thank you as well. Pellaeon smiled and returned the salute. 'No trouble at all, General Antilles. Now, let's get this meeting started, shall we? First order of business, the Kalbe System. Tac/Logis reports that we can have the station repaired and in serviceable condition in a couple of days, and fully fixed in five. Judging by the star maps Wraith Squadron has taken and those recovered from the Star Destroyers you captured in the Sonteg System, Kalbe connects to a number of Daala's vital hyperlanes.'

Pellaeon's hands disappeared as he tapped a few buttons outside the capture zone. Then his hologram turned into an image of their operational theater. Along with the Sonteg Route, several other star systems and hyperlanes were highlighted.

'Most pressing,' Pellaeon continued, 'is the Marada System just next door to us. It's one of the gateways into the Maw proper, and thus bound to be heavily guarded. If Daala is as smart as I remember, then our current fleet sizes won't be able to take and hold Marada for any appreciable amount of time. She'll be launching counter-strikes soon to retake Kalbe, I wager.'

Wedge nodded in agreement and drew attention to two series of line segments just a few hyperjumps away from Kalbe.. 'Right. Furthermore, the star maps we recovered point out these two hyperlanes as lifelines to the Maw. Their names are unpronounceable in Galactic Basic-they were named in some obscure Verpine dialect-so we'll designate them as Azure Veil and Route 69.'

There was a general chuckle among the gathered shipmasters. 'Who came up with those names?' asked Captain Forta of the _Black Reef_.

'Some of my pilots,' Wedge admitted. The two hyperlanes' strategic designations were derived from the names of two rather infamous strip clubs on Coruscant. Maturity was in short supply among starfighter jocks.

'Anyway,' Wedge said, regaining his composure, 'I've received word from Alliance Naval Command. Given our reports of the Maw Irregular Fleet's strengths and spread, we can count on a full fleet coming in from the core to help shore up our flanks and open a new front via our two new hyperlanes. We should be able to advance into Azure Veil and Route 69 by the end of this week.'

'What do we do in the meantime, sir?' asked Lieutenant Darrow, acting commanding officer of _Firelance_ after its bridge had taken a direct turbolaser blast during the battle. Darrow was only alive now because he had been close enough to the door to haul himself to safety while the rest of the bridge crew was blown to bits or dragged into the void. 'Will we be initiating any attacks on the Maw any time soon?'

Pellaeon's image returned. 'No, Lieutenant, we won't. You Alliance boys are in need of repairs and I don't have nearly enough ships to risk an Imperial-only assault on the Marada System. For now, we dig in and hold until the second Alliance fleet arrives. Then we'll see what we can do with the strengths we have.'

Darrow looked crestfallen. Expected, really. Most commanding officers on corvettes and other small, fast ships tended to be bold and aggressive, almost reckless, and Darrow had been _Firelance_'s second-in-command before today.

'Now,' Pellaeon said, 'on to more mundane matters. Next thing: we need to make sure Kalbe is as defensible as we can get it. General Antilles, have you formulated a patrol plan for our starfighters?'

Wedge was about to respond when the ship's proximity alarms rang. All the other officers noticed their own ships' alarms as well. Wordlessly, Pellaeon gave them a nod and shut off his holocomm, his image disappearing from the chamber. Everyone else followed suit soon after. Wedge ran to the bridge.

* * *

Vigil leaned back on one of the lounge couches and cracked open a bottle of fruit fizz. Pilots were forbidden from taking alcohol even when off-duty when this close to the front lines and he'd taken a liking to the stuff when he and the Rogues had taken a day's leave on one of the Sonteg System's planets. Tangy, not too sweet, with hints of citrus. It was good stuff. Just right for a brief break from updating IG-90's data core and assassination protocols. The droid's backup runtime had protested being forbidden from shooting extravehicular pilots, but Vigil had quieted the droid down with the threat of installing Sunfruit OS Xesh Nexu.

Nodra sat in front of him, tapping his chin and pondering what move to make next on the miniature Azad board sitting on the table between them. Sitting to the side, Bulsara divided his attention between his speeder bike magazine and looking at the game's progress. Aside from the Rogues and a few Wraiths, the lounge was empty. Aresh had gone to file after-action reports and Commander Antilles had been wise enough to go for sleep. Tur'in, Sund, and Bulsara had been disappointed that they missed the action above the Round Table.

'Yeah, but you guys got a piece of tactical espionage fun back in Sonteg,' Rosharra had countered when they voiced their complaints.

While Leda's injuries were cause for concern, the remaining Rogues made it a point not to speak of them. Other squadrons had fared worse, especially the Novas, who had lost a full flight's strength from combat damage and pilot casualties. Besides, they'd survived two-on-one odds and come out of it better than the enemy. That was cause enough for celebration, at least according to the media. Holonet reports had already caught wind of the events that had transpired in the Kalbe System. Some of the news sites had taken to calling Commander Antilles the 'Grim Reaper'. Some of the more sensational tabloids had come up with even more ridiculous nicknames as well, though Vigil couldn't quite recall any specifics off the top of his head. Many were simply too flowery to commit to easy memory.

Off in a corner, Rosharra, Beiner, Tur'in, and Sund giggled like school children at a holovid. Standing behind them, Myri Antilles buried her face in her hand, shaking with silent laughter. Jesmin Tainer passed, raised an eyebrow skeptically, and went on her merry way. It looked like some sort of juvenile school comedy, certainly something one wouldn't expect to find in a pilot's stash of illegally downloaded holos.

'What's got them laughing?' Vigil asked curiously.

'Some sort of rom-com animation,' the Duros said off-handedly. '_Gungan Shoujo Meesaki-kun_ or something like that.'

Vigil looked at Nodra like he'd offered a plate of steamed Wampa testicles. 'What.'

'That's the title,' Nodra said. 'If you ask me, I'd rather be watching _Top Gear_.'

'Some say that his pancreas has been replaced by a fusial thrust engine,' Vigil muttered.

'And that his right nipple always points to the galactic north,' Nodra continued.

'All we know is, he's called ST-166,' they chorused. On cue, a white TIE helmet poked out of a nearby janitor's closet and looked around. Upside-down.

'No, not you,' Nodra called out. 'Go back to sleep.'

Complying, Fel's Wrath shut the closet door once again and resumed sleeping, his arms crossed, hanging from the ceiling and snoozing like a giant bat. Or a TIE in its landing bracket.

* * *

'Captain,' Wedge said, 'what's going on?'

'A civilian craft has dropped in-system, General,' Tomar said. 'They're broadcasting a distress signal. They exited hyperspace just now.'

'Can you hail them?'

Tomar nodded. 'Can do, sir. Comms?'

Wedge straightened and cleared his throat, preparing to speak when he heard someone screaming. He and everyone else tensed at the noise before Wedge realized that there was something familiar about the sound. 'I'd know that girly screaming anywhere,' he muttered. 'This is GFFA _Tiger Claw_, hailing unidentified civilian craft. Hobbie, is that you?'

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-Yes, this is Hobbie. Wedge, is that you?-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-'

Wedge sighed and rubbed his temples. 'Hobbie, what in the name of the Force are you doing here? I thought you, Wes, and Tycho were off doing a show.'

Hobbie stopped screaming and composed himself. 'Um. Well, long story. We _were_ on our way to Tatooine. Wes, Tycho, and I, I mean. Major Yobbo over here decided it would be a good idea to take a detour through this end of space, ended up taking us through an ion storm and fouling our instrument panels. I don't have any readings on shields, fuel, or systems other than life support, and even that's failing as we speak.'

Frowning, Wes pulled up a visual sensor display of Hobbie's craft. Sure enough, they were flying a death trap of a ship only _Top Gear_'s producers could love. It was a Selonian cone ship, no doubt scrounged from a junk yard and haphazardly patched up. Wedge estimated that it couldn't have cost more than two thousand credits.

'Oh, for the love of Space God,' Wedge grumbled. 'Hobbie, can you guys see us? We have you on visual. Maneuver to the big Mon Cal Cruiser into one of the hangars. I'll send word to our engineers to clear landing space in all port side bays. We can tractor you in.'

Another voice piped up in the comm, uncharacteristically chipper given the terrible condition of their craft. 'Yub yub, General.'

Wedge cut the link and laughed silently at the sheer stupidity of this reunion. No doubt, Wes, Tycho, and Hobbie would have a lot of explaining to do regarding why they were flying anywhere near a war zone. Then he stopped. Wes had said, 'Yub yub.' There was only one reason why Wes Janson would say, 'Yub yub.' Oh. _Oh_. Oh _no_._  
_

* * *

Floating outside one of the _Tiger Claw_'s viewports, the Force ghosts of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker traded amused expressions as they watched Luke and Mara depart.

'Looks like your son's still got his moisture farming skills,' Obi-Wan quipped.

'Oh? And how do you figure that?'

'Because every time he sees that girl of his, there isn't a dry seat in the house,' Kenobi remarked.

Anakin snorted. 'Only because every time they're found out, someone has to hose them down.'

'DOHOHOHOHOHOHO!'


	17. 16: Good Company

16

Good Company

Maarek Stele and Turr Phennir were in the process of packing up the gear they'd brought to the _Tiger Claw_ when the cone ship unceremoniously plopped onto the hangar deck plating in front of their TIEs. Trading a confused look, they stopped their work for a moment to see what came out. With a hiss and creak, the landing ramp descended, revealing three haggard men in scrounged, ancient flight suits that appeared to have been haphazardly patched and thrown under a stampede of Tetran Cowall fangirls. One of them, on his knees, tore off his helmet and began breathing in deep gulps of air.

'_Oxygen! _Blessed _oxygen_!' yelled Hobbie Klivian.

Wes Janson unclipped his own helmet and spiked it into the ground, doing a little jig. 'We're alive! I can't believe it! We're _alive_!'

Phennir and Stele snickered. 'And now the clowns have arrived,' Phennir muttered.

'It's a proper Rogue's Gallery now,' Stele replied.

The third man was rather more composed about things. Stepping off in a parade ground-perfect manner, Tycho Celchu tucked his helmet under his arm and smoothed his hair, taking civilized sips of air, sampling it like a fine wine. He turned and greeted the two generals with a crisp salute.

'Phennir, Stele, fancy seeing you two here,' he said.

'Celchu,' Phennir said, shaking the man's hand. The scar on Phennir's face curled up unpleasantly when he smiled. 'Mind telling us why you're still hanging around these clowns and not with proper officers?'

Hobbie and Wes, done with their gaseous feast, straightened out and saluted Phennir and Stele as well, albeit with one finger each.

'Well, look who it is,' Wes said, 'the guy whose ass we kicked at Adumar and, uh...um...Hobbie, help me out here.'

Hobbie shrugged. 'Hey, I only remember _good_ pilots.'

It was all good-natured ribbing, of course. The four of them had survived the worst conflicts in recent galactic history and, though they'd been on opposing sides, the Rogues and 181st all bore a healthy respect for one another. The insults were a sign of good spirits. No, really.

'Funny, Klivian,' Stele retorted, 'I don't remember ever being approached by bacta companies for endorsement.'

'How about y-'

Before Hobbie could make a comeback, Wes came between them, smirking. 'Whoa, gentlemen, calm thine breasts. How about we settle this age-old rivalry like civilized folk, huh?'

Tycho raised a tired eyebrow. 'Wes, if you say, "Pistols at dawn", I won't be held responsible for cleaning your bits off the floor.'

Wes and Stele gave him confused looks. 'What?' Wes said incredulously. 'No, no, I said we were going to be _civilized_.'

'Gravball,' he, Stele, Phennir, and Hobbie chorused, as if it was the most natural answer in the 'verse. The techs and the pilots in the hangar, who had only listened in on snippets of the conversation, suddenly perked up.

'Of course,' Wes continued, 'unlike the Prefsbelt Pansies or the chumps from Carida who aren't Kyle Katarn, we Rebel Alliance veterans know how to play ball.'

Stele laughed at that. 'In your case, Janson, the only ball games you know are played solo. No, I know my way around a gravball court. After all, I flew a Missile Boat.'

Tycho, utterly at a loss regarding this apparently ancient custom, asked, 'What does that have to do with gravball?'

Stele procured a regulation-sized orange ball from his duffel bag and dribbled it on the deck. 'One does not master the Missile Boat without first learning how to SLAM and jam, Celchu.'

Before bets could be passed, however, Wedge and several others walked in, among them a team of mechanics to deal with the cone ship, as well as Luke, Mara, and Myri. Syal, still snoozing, had remained in her quarters.

'Auntie Mara?' Wes said, pitching his voice to sound like a little boy.

She sighed and held her arms outward, rolling her eyes. 'Yeah, Wes, I'm al-_glurk!_'

Wes took her offer of a hug. 'I knew it! I knew you were just faking it to avoid taxes the whole time!'

Hugging Wes back, Mara looked with horror at Myri. 'Has he been teaching you _things_?' she asked.

Myri nodded with a smile._  
_

Mara glared at Wes. 'You monster.'

'That's not even the half of it,' sighed Wedge. 'Okay, gents, what are you doing _here_ of all places?'

Wes repeated Hobbie's story pretty much as it was, albeit with more embellishment, blame-dodging, and heroism. On the side, though, he winked and slipped Wedge a piece of folded flimsi with something else scribbled on it while Hobbie, Mara, and Tycho weren't looking.

'Oh no,' Wedge grumbled, 'I _knew_ it.'

'Yub yub, General,' Wes whispered conspiratorially. Then he turned to Luke and said, 'O hai, Luke! How's your sex life?'

Luke coughed uncomfortably. Before Mara could talk about it, he said, 'I can't tell you. It's confidential.'

* * *

Syal rolled over on her bed with a muffled curse as her alarm beeped. Rolling further, she dumped herself off the bed and checked her coffee machine. Nothing. She'd run out of the stuff she'd brought from home, the Baremian blend she so loved to drink in the mornings before she'd signed on for military service. Deprived of caffeine, Syal hauled herself bodily into the refresher and performed a less-than-adequate job of cleaning up. Barefoot, disheveled, and holding an empty mug, she stepped out into the cursed white light of the corridor leading to the pilot's lounge, where she would have to drink the hated False Shepherd.

'Hey, boss!' greeted Tur'in'akar cheerily from the end of the lounge. He and Sund were busy leafing through the latest issue of _PlaySpace, _admiring the various buxom dames inside. Bulsara lay on a couch beside them, listening to music. Sund mentioned something about Quarrens, a mental image which Syal most definitely didn't need at this hour. She mumbled something and waved half-heartedly before pouring herself a cup of caf. She was still on the edge of murdering something, but the infusion of caffeine had softened that slightly, even if it did taste like ass.

Sund paused his admiration of a particularly nubile Zeltron and passed Syal a datapad set to display the latest relevant news. 'Sounds like we're getting some press, Commander. We made the headlines.'

Blinking in surprise, Syal took the datapad and read through it, reclining and resting her feet on the coffee table. Belatedly, she wondered if it was unbecoming of a commander to do this sort of thing in front of her squadmates, but she wasn't remotely caffeinated enough to care about decorum yet. Instead, she wiggled her toes. The news was almost all bogus, of course. Hyperbolic, almost comical in its sensational tone. 'Trial by fire' this and 'decorated officer' that. In hindsight, the Round Table battle hadn't been all that spectacular. It was your average tale of poor odds, yes, but when Alliance pilots found themselves outnumbered on almost all of their combat assignments, things tended to feel rather samey. It had certainly not been a worthy note to add to the Rogues' laundry list of battle honors in her eyes. Certainly not enough to justify the idiotic moniker the news outlets had given her.

'"Grim Reaper,"' she repeated dryly. 'Points for originality.'

'How about "Demon Lord"?' Sund offered.

Syal snorted. 'I don't deserve a title, Twelve. As far as we're all concerned, I'm just Rogue Leader.'

Tur'in didn't bother looking up from the centerfold of the magazine. 'Well, seeing as you have the trademark Antilles luck, Commander, how about Talisman?'

Sipping her synth-caf, Syal shook her head slightly. 'Mm-mm.'

Bulsara lifted his music player and activated the display, pointing to the song title: 'Killer Queen'.

Syal gestured to her crumpled uniform and bedhead. 'Does this look queenly at all?'

'Throw on some war paint, grab a spear, and you might pass for some Outer Rim tribal,' Aresh deadpanned as he entered the lounge. He was busy scribbling away at a datapad.

'Any news on Leda and Ninety?' Syal asked.

'Two's going to be fine,' Aresh said. 'No permanent lung damage, though she'll be on bacta treatments for a couple of weeks for that. Unfortunately, the doctors had to amputate. The damage was too severe to fix her leg up. Luckily, the ship's stocks of medical supplies came with top-notch bionics. She'll be out of the bacta tank and learning how to walk with it in a few days.'

Syal sighed in relief. 'That's great. Hopefully, she'll be flight-ready with it soon after.'

'Ninety's still the same old, same old, but a bit more obedient towards his flight lead and Alliance combat protocol. I don't know how he did it, but Five managed to scare an assassin droid into line.'

Syal shrugged. 'Whatever he's doing, he's doing a good job of it.' She made a mental note to put Vigil forth for commendation and promotion. His flying skills and leadership had made him a natural for flight command. Though the others hadn't yet really demonstrated an aptitude for leadership, she was confident that they would cut their teeth in that department when presented with future opportunities.

'What are you doing now?' she asked. 'Still working on those AARs?'

Aresh shrugged. 'Nope. Posting about the Grim Reaper on Spacebook.'

'You jerk.'

'Yub yub, Commander. I've got some more news as well, actually,' he said.

'Is it bad news or good news?' Syal asked warily.

Aresh lit up at that. 'It's _good_ news, because there's a new model of the Spacia Sandero!'

At that moment, Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie were on the way to the quarters Wedge had designated for them. When Tycho heard that, he poked his head around the corner curiously. 'Did somebody say "Spacia Sandero"?'

Syal stopped Aresh before he could go on about what was apparently the hottest new civilian starship on the market. 'No, General Celchu, nobody said "Spacia Sandero".'

'Oh, I know what I heard, Commander,' said Tycho, 'and mark my words, the Spacia Sandero _will_ have its day.'

The three newcomers filed into their bunks. Seconds later, Syal heard a muffled yelp and saw an Ewok fly out a door. Myri darted out from a corridor, caught it neatly, and ran off back to wherever it is she came from.

'Frakking kids,' Syal grumbled.

* * *

Wedge returned to the ship's comms center and set up a long-range encrypted channel to the second Alliance fleet en route to the battlefront. Two of the holo-projectors flickered to life, one displaying the likeness of Grand Admiral Pellaeon and the other of General Han Solo.

'Wedge,' Han said, 'just like old times, huh? Good to see you're still kicking too, Pellaeon.'

The Imperial admiral bowed. 'I'm a tough man to kill, General Solo.'

'I assume you're calling to ask about our current status,' said Han. 'We're burning hard and fast to get to you guys. Those Star Destroyers you captured at Sonteg have hitched a ride with us, too. Expect us to be in position in about two days.'

'Very good, General,' Pellaeon said.

'I'd say more about what I'm bringing to the fight,' Han said carefully, 'but for now, let's just assume our Maw Irregular friend is listening in. All I'll say is that she won't be ruling the Rim with an iron fist once we're done with her.'

While Pellaeon had taken the remark at face value, Wedge knew exactly what Han was talking about. The fleet tasked to Han's command was either similarly sized to the one used against Zsinj (somewhere in the neighborhood of eleven to thirteen ships) or at the very least similarly composed, which meant heavy-hitting ships of the line like Mon Calamari Cruisers, Star Destroyers, and larger carrier ships. Thus far, Wedge's force mostly consisted of fast, light ships like CR90s and solid medium vessels like Nebulon-Bs, but the size and strength of the Maw and its mercenary allies had demonstrated the need for vessels that could survive slugging matches. Pellaeon had brought five Star Destroyers, three _Carrack_-class cruisers, and two _Lancer_-class frigates, which was decently sized, but that would only really be sufficient for holding the Bastionward flank of the fight. With these additional forces, they had a chance of advancing quickly enough to encircle the Maw and cut off Daala's lifelines to the rest of the Outer Rim. If everything was going right, Han's fleet would be stationed at an Alliance space station on the edge of Bothan space, poised for a strike through Hutt space and along Daala's rimward flank. The Hutts would probably protest at this violation of their national sovereignty, but after their double-dealing with the Yuuzhan Vong, most people, Wedge and Han included, didn't really give a damn.

Of course, nothing would ever be that easy.

* * *

Luke sat bolt upright in his chair, breaking out into a cold sweat. Ben entered his quarters, looking similarly afflicted.

'You felt that, too, didn't you?' he asked breathlessly.

Luke nodded. There was a disturbance in the Force. That dark presence he had sensed over the past few weeks had returned, and it was on the move. He'd caught small signs of its passage, drawing closer then fading away. Reports from salvage and patrol teams along the edges of the fleet's defenses had come back with confirmation of lightsaber burns and patrol craft that had turned into charnel houses filled with cut-up corpses. He had tried for the past few weeks to pin the Force signature down; his attempts to search through the tides of the Force had acted as an early warning system for the fleet, alerting Alliance forces to find and patch up holes in their patrol routes.

Unbeknownst to him, such actions had actually prevented the Dread Masters from doing more than picking away at individual craft, limiting the number of targets on which they could feed. The Dread Masters had been forced to take lengthy periods of dormancy to conserve their strength, a side effect of their minds and bodies getting rusty over thousands of years of imprisonment. But now, it seemed, they were moving, active and very, very hungry. Luke sensed their dark presence, and he knew that wherever it went, an army of Maw Irregulars and merenaries would surely follow.

'They're moving Rimward,' Luke said. 'Rimward, heading to...'

He turned in his chair to pull up a galaxy map on his desk's computer terminal. 'The Abrion Sector or Gamorr, somewhere around that neighborhood.'

'They want to encircle Bothan space, encircle our reinforcements before we do the same to them.'

'Precisely,' Luke said. He got up and headed for the door. 'Come on, we've got to warn Wedge.'


	18. 17: Hot Space

17

Hot Space

The skies over Cabal III were ablaze. As Alliance starfighters and landing craft entered the atmosphere, weapons emplacements and ground-based defenders opened fire. Rogue Squadron, split up between Y-wings and their usual XJ-7s, led the attack alongside Polearm Squadron, whose A-wings sped ahead to tie up the planet's starfighter and airspeeder defenders, their missile contrails and laser bolts streaking the night air.

Syal rolled her Y-wing, dodging a hasty shot from a ground-based SAM battery. She nudged the stick to port to correct her aim, strafing the missile launcher with the fighter's laser cannons. She had to admit, despite being taught by Tycho Celchu, the most notorious speed freak in the Alliance, she was enjoying the new Y-wing. It was a BTL-X5, an experimental model assigned to the Rogues for field testing. Surprisingly fast, properly slick around the corners, and just absolutely full of new tricks-Koensayr had built a _masterpiece_._  
_

Newly built by Koensayr to compete with the B-wing, it possessed a whole bevy of upgrades that blew the old S3 and A4 series out of the void. Its engine nacelles' support pylons and disk vectrals had been removed completely in light of improvements in starfighter engineering, significantly shortening the craft. The ion jet engines themselves had been redesigned to allow for thrust vectoring, and a new power plant had been installed into the rugged S3 frame, improving its overall performance. Cooling systems derived from the StealthX's heatsinks granted the craft greater longevity, while advances in transparisteel production had allowed for a canopy that didn't sacrifice visibility for protection. And to top things off, the folks at Koensayr had managed to find enough room to install a countermeasure system for dropping flares. It handled like a dream and could even compete with older X-wings in acceleration and atmospheric speed. Though still slower than the XJs and A-wings, the BTL-X5 was an absolute delight to fly. And though she couldn't speak for the mechanics, Syal had heard that the armor plating also underwent a complete overhaul, making replacement and maintenance less of a pain for the gearheads. When Uncle Wes had heard the news, he spent the entire morning gabbling excitedly and clutching his tinkle. Uncle Tycho had been aghast when he caught Syal ogling the centerfold diagram in the BTL-X5's manual.

Syal and Leda grinned like little kids as the Y-wing went through another swift climb before inverting and diving back down to dive-bomb a quartet of repulsor tanks dug in along the enemy's first defensive line. Though still not fit enough to fly her X-wing, Leda had been cleared for gunner duty a few days after receiving her new limb. She had demonstrated her ability to work with the new cyberware yesterday by hopping on one transparisteel leg, and currently, she occupied the turret gunner seat of Syal's craft.

Pulling up at the last second, Syal leveled her craft, skimming the terrain as she vaped the armor and artillery the Maw and its mercenary allies fielded. Spotting a pillbox, Syal switched to torpedoes and squeezed off a tri-linked shot. As she pulled up to loop back for another attack run, Spark updated her kill feed. The pillbox had become a smoldering heap of rubble and wasted credits.

Yep. Syal had been converted. She loved the new Y-wing.

* * *

Bulsara snap-rolled his Y-wing to port, dodging a stream of laser fire from the anti-fighter emplacements on the ground. Aresh sat in the gunner seat, having logged fewer hours in Y-wings than his wingman did. Where Syal's BTL-X5 was outfitted with proton torpedo launchers, Bulsara's had been equipped to field-test its proton bomb dispensers, and thus far, they had proven to be deliciously effective. Bulsara dropped his last bomb and pulled up as it split into a dozen other bomblets, vaporizing a platoon of mobile anti-air vehicles. Though Aresh couldn't see it, his mustachioed wingman was also loving the new fighter, reveling in its maneuverability. He hoped nobody would stop them now, because he was having a ball burning through the sky.

The target lock warnings beeped in Bulsara's headset, prompting him to weave as Aresh traversed the ion cannons and fired. One of the pursuing HH-87 Starhoppers plummeted as it flew right into a hail of ion bolts. Thanks to the Y-wing's thrust vectoring, Bulsara easily managed to turn onto the tail of the Starhopper's wingman and vape it with a trio of twin-linked laser blasts. Aresh downed the third fighter, tracking ion shots across its engines and flank, the unstable energies setting off secondary explosions as vital components short-circuited.

* * *

Two Flight, down one pilot, had remained in X-wings, providing cover against the Maw's own ground attack craft. Already, they'd downed a pair of M22-T Krayt gunships and a trio of old LAAT/i craft gunning right for the Alliance's landing party. Inverting his craft, Vigil arced back towards the surface to blow an AT-AT to pieces before climbing again to shoot another LAAT/i out of the sky.

'Hammer Two here,' said one of the tank crews down below, 'thanks for the assist.'

'Rogue Five here,' Vigil responded, 'good hunting, Hammer Two. Make some nice explosions for us down there.'

'Count on it. Hammer Two out.'

Quite frankly, Vigil didn't see the appeal in Y-wings. Sure, these new ones were a bit more maneuverable, but nothing could beat A-wings and TIEs in that department. They had firepower, but so did B-wings, E-wings, and X-wings. Maybe it was the Corellian speed cultist in him that looked down on Koensayr and everything it touched, but he honestly saw little appeal in it. Besides, he was perfectly content with good old Incom.

High above the battlefield, the landing force's mission control craft, a K-wing fitted with sensors and a hyperdrive in place of weaponry, observed the destruction. 'Heaven's Eye to all units, we're seeing a reduction in enemy fighting capacity to about fifty percent. Keep up the pressure and this base will be ours.'

'That means keep blowing stuff up, Seven,' Rosharra quipped.

'You beat me once in kill count and suddenly you're the genius of the team, huh?'

'No, I've been the genius of this team since our droid got vaped.'

'Two Flight, cut the chatter,' Vigil said. 'Hostile TIE bombers coming in at nine o'clock low. Let's show them what happens when you try flying without a proper fighter escort.'

* * *

'Scorch, blow the wall down.'

'I thought you'd never ask, Boss.'

IC-1138, tac name 'Boss', crouched behind a pile of rubble as his squad's heavy weapons expert rose and hefted a rocket launcher. Scorch braced himself and rocked back slightly as he squeezed the trigger, the high-explosive rocket speeding out and blowing a hole in their target building. They'd fast-roped into the fortress' inner courtyard a few minutes ago, dispatching the defenders with ease. As a fire team tried to move to cover the breach, bright bolts of energy lanced through its members' skulls and chests, burning messy holes in laminoid breastplates and splitting helmets open.

'Boss,' rumbled Delta Squad's sniper, 'move. I've got you covered.'

Boss did so, gesturing for Scorch and Fixer to follow as they stormed the building. There was a reason they'd been assigned to the leading edge of the assault. Despite their age, clone commandos were still the very best of the best. Ruthless, fast, and accurate, Delta Squad mopped up Scorch's leftovers in record time.

'Good shooting, gents,' Boss said. 'Form up. Let's clean the rest of this place out before those Alliance kiddies can get a slice of the pie, eh?'

Scorch kicked one of the bodies, a Geonosian whose body still twitched. 'Hey, got a live one here.'

A blaster bolt to the head killed the Geonosian soon after.

'Never mind,' Scorch corrected.

'Four thousand nine hundred eighty-two.' Delta's sniper holstered his pistol. IC-1207. Sev. As it turned out, Sev had not been killed in action during the fighting on Kashyyyk at the close of the Clone Wars, but captured and sent to a Separatist prison camp. When Pellaeon had spearheaded the post-war effort to crack open the CIS' prison camps, he was surprised to find that Sev had rescued himself, helping to lead a prisoner revolt that overthrew the guards and defenses. Despite the appalling loss of life in the face of the CIS guns, every single clone survivor hadn't hesitated to sign up for active duty once again. Like many other clones, the brothers of Delta Squad held the old man in high regard. Pellaeon had treated them like normal sapients, fighting to afford them the same rights non-clone servicemen enjoyed and living among them rather than maintaining the distance other Imperial officers did. Delta Squad believed they owed Pellaeon a debt for reuniting them with their lost brother, and had served with him through almost the entirety of the first Empire's rule.

Scorch chuckled and prepped his breaching charges. 'Boss, do you want this diet, regular, or extra strength?'

'Whatever gets us through this door without killing us all, Scorch.'

'You got it,' the jovial demoman replied, setting the explosives and timer before backing up against the wall. He counted down. Three. Two. One.

With a sharp boom, the door blew inwards, immediately killing the stormtrooper attempting to barricade the door shut from the other side. Boss primed a frag grenade and tossed it in through the doorway, entering with his blaster carbine raised after the grenade detonated. No survivors. The stormtroopers had still been disoriented by the blast. Amateurs.

Scorch looked up at the ceiling and pulled out another set of explosives. 'Boss, I'm getting a lot of hits upstairs on X-ray directly above us. Want me to blow the floor out from under them?'

'No,' the commando leader said. 'We might end up collapsing this whole thing on ourselves. The ceiling shouldn't be too thick if we can see them this clearly on X-ray. Prep your sniper attachments.'

'This is going to be child's play,' Sev said with a dark laugh.

In perfect sync, the commandos stripped away the blaster attachments on their carbines, slotting in the high-powered energy cell and components for the sniper setting. At this close range, the anti-materiel shots would have no problem punching up through the ceiling.

'You know, I heard one of the Alliance guys did this with a stripped down X-wing cannon,' Fixer said.

'That would make things too easy,' Scorch remarked.

They acquired targets, marking them on their helmet displays to make sure no two shot at the same person. Boss slowed his breathing, centering the crosshairs on the silhouette directly above him, and pulled the trigger. On cue, the other commandos did the same, then reacquired, then fired again and again until they exhausted their energy cells.

'Guess you could say we just made this place hallowed ground,' Scorch joked.

Fixer tilted his helmet in puzzlement. 'How so?'

'We just made these guys-' Scorch paused to deactivate his X-ray vision setting, darkening his visor to pitch black. '-holy men.'

'Booooooo.'

* * *

By the time the Rogues disembarked on the _Tiger Claw_, all of the Y-wing testers emerged with big smiles on their faces. Syal and Leda talked excitedly about the handling, while Beiner and Windspeaker waxed poetic about its destructive capabilities. Tur'in yammered on about its aesthetics while Sund got pedantic over the engineering. Bulsara posed triumphantly on his Y-wing's nose, silent as always, while Aresh recorded his flight report on a datapad. To be fair, it _was_ a very good fighter craft. Even the mechanics assigned to the Rogues seemed pleased to be able to work on the fighters, no doubt thanks to the fact that they weren't hangar queens, unlike their ancestors or the B-wing, whose maintenance times and costs sat somewhere between 'Ridiculous' and 'Great Space Gods, why'.

Tycho shook his head in disappointment. 'I can't believe you, Commander, getting so giddy over a flying pig.'

Syal gasped in mock offense and hugged the nose of her Y-wing affectionately, giving it a light kiss on the side. 'General, how dare you talk about my new baby like that! I mean, I'd never give up my X-wing for this, but she's a good girl nonetheless.'

Tycho groaned. 'Don't start with me on that "Y-fu" crap. Wes spent the whole morning complaining that Koensayr had "forgotten" to send him a model to test as well.'

'Don't knock it until you try it, sir,' Syal sing-songed as she exited the hangar.

* * *

Luke popped his X-wing's cockpit and disembarked, finished with his post-flight checks. After sensing the Dread Masters' move, it was decided that he would transfer to Han's fleet while Ben and Mara manned the proverbial fort aboard the _Tiger Claw_.

'Well, if it isn't the Boy Scout,' greeted a familiar voice. 'Congrats on getting Mara back, by the way.'

Luke turned from his X-wing and smiled, clasping hands with his old friend and pulling him into a manly bro-hug. 'Couldn't sit on my ass while there were Sith to slap, Han. And thanks. How have things gone on this end?'

Han Solo, who looked distinctly uncomfortable in his general's uniform, frowned. 'We've had some brief encounters with the Maw's scouts and vanguard already. Vaped a few of their fighters and lighter ships, but so far, we haven't encountered anything larger than a frigate just yet. We know what their plan is, though.'

'How?'

Han pulled out a data disk. 'We managed to snag this off a captured Neb-B. B-wings hit it with ion fire and the marines salvaged the data off a hardened storage drive on the bridge. Apparently, the goal is to head for the Death Wind Corridor, then up the Corellian Run to blockade our supply lines. Our best bet is to fortify the Abrion and Arkanis Sectors since their forces are probably the most organized out of the planetary defenders in this end of space. While I take part of the fleet to Abrion, I'm going to need you in Arkanis. Specifically, Tatooine. Daala's probably too smart to expose her pet Force jockey by sending him with the guys besieging the Abrion Sector, but I've got a feeling he or she will be leading the push into the Corellian Run.'

Luke nodded, a strategic picture forming in his mind. 'Got it. When do you need me to go?'

Han was about to answer when his comm unit beeped. The news he received made him even more unhappy. 'Now, Luke. Sorry to cut your stay short, but the Maw's main force is on the move. I'm sending some of the fleet with you. You'll get more details forwarded to your datapad.'

Luke was already climbing back into the pilot's seat. R2-D2 let out a tone that was the astromech equivalent of a grumble. 'Look on the bright side, Artoo. Don't you want to see the old homestead again?'

Artoo disliked sand. It was coarse and rough and irritating and it got everywhere.

'Let's hope sand will be the worst of our problems.'


	19. 18: Twin Suns Over Paradise

18

Twin Suns Over Paradise

In the space above Tatooine, a battle raged between the Maw Irregular Fleet and Arkanis Sector Rangers. Though armed with old starfighters like Z-95s and with mere light patrol craft, the Rangers, backed by a battle group of Alliance warships, fought fiercely to defend the borders of their home sector. Laser bolts and missile trails criss-crossed in low orbit as capital ships and starfighters danced. In the center of it all was a single XJ-7 X-wing, instantly recognizable by its starboard strike foils, painted almost entirely red. To enemies, it made him at once a target and an object of fear, for his skills in the cockpit were unmatched by all save one. To friends, it made him a symbol of hope, a guardian angel. To him, though, it was merely a small joke. A cautionary reminder of sorts after losing a certain other starboard appendage some time ago. Luke Skywalker couldn't help but be amused at the chatter on his comm feed.

'Starhawk Five, bandit on your tail! Shake the red wing guy!'

'I'll draw his attention, Three. You take his Six.'

'Viper Lead to all units, back up Wing Commander Skywalker.'

Oh, right. The paperwork had finally come through, making official Luke's reinstatement into Starfighter Command. Though the anti-Jedi faction (a remnant of Daala's old regime) in the brass had fought to maintain his exile, the moderates and pro-Jedi side of brasshole politics managed to force a compromise, returning him to active duty but bumping his pay grade down to a mere Wing Commander rank. Either way, he didn't care. He wanted to protect and serve, not fatten his savings account.

Luke rolled his fighter to avoid a concussion missile and followed up with a retaliatory quad-linked shot, blowing the attacking Preybird out of the void in the ensuing head-to-head. Pulling up to break an enemy laser lock, he took his X-wing into a loop far tighter than any enemy craft in the battlefield then could manage, tucking in behind the pursuing X-TIE Ugly and vaping it with another expertly placed shot. Reacquiring, he nudged the stick slightly to and fro to fix a target lock on a StarViper when an emergency message came through from _Winds of Change_, the fleet carrier that served as the Alliance's command vessel in Arkanis.

'Maverick One,' said Captain Khashoggi, 'I see a single escape pod heading for the surface from the enemy's flagship. Looks like he's getting a big escort, as well.'

Luke pulled up the item highlighted on his long-distance visual feed, zooming in on a piece of space near an enemy _Republic_-class cruiser that was in the middle of its death throes. Indeed, there was an escape pod en route to the surface escorted by a flight of TIE Interceptors. Disturbingly, the dark presence he'd sensed seemed to be aboard that pod.

'Captain, how's the fight swinging right now? That pod is a high-value target, I'm certain.'

A pause. 'Enemy combat capability appears to be down to forty percent. Current allied strengths appear to be sufficient, Maverick. Pursue the escape pod.'

'On it, Captain,' Luke said before closing the channel. He diverted his power into acceleration and sped towards the enemy squints. Under normal circumstances, an XJ-7 would have a bit of trouble catching up to the agile TIEs, but they were busy trying to keep pace with the escape pod. That gave him enough slack to catch up. Luke kept his brackets just slightly to far ahead of the lead TIE to ensure he wouldn't alert them to laser locks until the right time. The distance counter ticked down. Slowly, slowly he reached maximum laser range.

'Hello,' he muttered, feathering the stick ever so slightly to port. Laser lock. The squint detonated, its engine integrity compromised by a quad-linked shot. Thanks to R2-D2's expert ministrations, Luke's lasers recycled just a bit more quickly than the average X-wing, allowing him to pick off the next TIE before it could react to its comrade's destruction. Then the survivors broke formation. One remained with the pod, positioning itself as a shield while its wingman attempted a head-to-head. Obviously suicidal, but if by some chance the incoming TIE survived, it would force Luke to waste time while the escape pod widened the distance. As the TIE closed to joust, Luke switched to torpedoes and fired three at point-blank range. There were more pressing matters than a dogfight.

Deprived of room to maneuver, the Interceptor exploded as the X-wing sped past into Tatooine's atmosphere. Arming his last load of torpedoes, Luke closed the distance, racing to vape the dark presence before it could make landfall. He fired again, but this time, the enemy TIE was ready. The lone survivor had already turned and was firing its lasers indiscriminately, blowing the torpedoes out of the sky. Unable to get good laser locks on one another, Luke and the TIE passed each other, the TIE circling around to get on the X-wing's tail. Laser lock warnings rang in Luke's cockpit as he targeted the escape pod. Artoo beeped in alarm.

'I know, I know, but a TIE is the least of our problems right now! If this escape pod lands, whatever's inside might very well end up killing a whole lot of people. Plot its landing site.'

Artoo droid-sighed and calculated its landing point. After a moment, the answer popped up on Luke's display. Mos Espa, one of the most densely populated cities on the planet.

Nevertheless, Luke fought to break the TIE's lock while simultaneously lining up his own shot. Seconds before the escape pod reached Mos Espa's airspace, Luke finally got a good tone. He fired, the quad-linked lasers easily penetrating the pod's thin armor. Its engines exploded, sending it down in a smoky fireball.

'It'll land in the city outskirts,' Luke said quietly, 'but at least we vaped it. Let's kill this last TIE then go down to double-tap the body.'

Artoo beeped in agreement and the X-wing turned away to engage the last surviving squint.

* * *

Pain. Amazing pain, like he hadn't felt in millennia. Lord Kharak groaned as he pulled his bleeding form from the wreckage. The only reason he was still alive was because so much of his body had been replaced by cybernetics. Though his Force powers had been dulled, he knew he was still the superior of any Jedi whelp the galaxy would throw at him. The remaining organic parts of his body, twisted by Sith alchemy and the horrid pseudo-life granted by the Phobis Device, slowly healed on their own, draining his reserves to keep his body alive. He would need to feed again.

He retrieved his lightsabers and used the Force to smash the hatch open. The metal plate flew, slamming into the face of one of the Sector Rangers sent to secure the crash site. It killed the man instantly. Turning his outstretched hand inward, Kharak raised it, lifting up and choking the life out of the rest of the Ranger fire team as he drained them. Dimly, he heard an explosion in the background. One of those incompetent starfighter escorts exploding, no doubt. Releasing the bodies, Kharak stepped onto the road that led into Mos Espa's inner walls, only half-aware of the insignificant insects crawling out of the nearby slums to gaze upon him. He laughed as two more speeders of Sector Rangers arrived on the scene, forming a cheap barricade to stop him. He raised one hand, blocking the incoming laser fire with the Force alone. Raising the other, he called forth a whirlwind, kicking up sand and escape pod debris with such force that the speeders were hurled aside, the Sector Rangers' flesh scoured from their bones by the grit. One died choking as a metal fragment from Kharak's downed escape pod embedded itself in his throat. Not a single one survived. What was he forgetting? He knew something needed to be done, but-Oh. Right.

Kharak turned to look down upon a young human child and his pet akk dog. Then he kneed the akk dog in the face and went on his merry way. Now he remembered. Petty evil quota. He hummed a merry tune from his youth and sauntered deeper into Mos Espa, eager to spread more mayhem and burn this city to the ground. Destroying the place wasn't in the Admiral's orders, but after a while, an old Sith like him considered Force-based urban renovation as an art form to be perfected, a hobby to take the mind off paperwork, the chore of digging mass graves, and dog-kicking. Besides, he loved atrocities and he loved war. And there's nothing like a good atrocity to keep a war going.

* * *

Luke brought his X-wing in for a swift landing at the edge of Mos Espa's outer slums a few minutes later, hearing comm chatter about an enemy Force wielder. He opened his fighter's cargo compartment and extracted a few essentials first: a blaster pistol, a belt of grenades, a vibroblade, a medkit, and a coil of shigawire. There was no need to set anything to stun this time. When it came to the Dark Side, the order of the day was kill on sight, no questions asked.

He ran to the crash site, blaster drawn in one hand, lightsaber ready in the other, only to find that his target had moved into the city.

'Oh, crapbaskets.'

Luke knelt by the only survivor, a crying child, and channeled a bit of the Light Side into the kid's injured dog, healing the creature. He had to comfort the kid somehow, but he was in a hurry. 'Hey, hey, easy, little one,' he said cautiously. 'I'm a Jedi, here on Jedi Order business. Did you happen to see a bad man with unnatural powers pass by at any point? Where did he go?'

Sniffling, the kid pointed at the gate that led into the city's trade quarter.

'Oh. Wonderful.' Luke reached into a pocket and handed the kid a ration bar before sprinting towards the Dread Master's general direction. 'Thanks for the tip. Take care, kid, and, uh, winners don't use drugs! And no matter what anyone says, moisture farming is a perfectly respectable career!'

Trailing the Maw's Force user was easy enough once one got into the city. The trail of corpses, speeder wreckage, and panicked Jawas was a dead giveaway. Above, gunships piloted by the surviving Ranger garrison sped towards the tallest building in the city, the Paradise City Spire. Built by an extremely wealthy Hutt sheikh a few years ago, the PCS was at once a luxury hotel, a shopping center, and airspeeder landing dock that offered tours of the surrounding scenery. It was built as a symbol for the people of Mos Espa, a sign that Tatooine could be more than a wretched hive of scum and villainy, that Tatooine could become a wretched hive of cash and tourism as well.

'Of course,' Luke said to himself. 'Of course the Force jockey goes for the biggest landmark in town.'

He ran into the lobby, finding it already swarming with Sector Rangers and Alliance troopers setting up barricades and crew-served weapons. The luxurious decor and scenery had been smashed beyond repair, the great fountain flattened by a piece of the ceiling, its waters spreading out in a massive puddle and mingling with the spilled blood of staff members, civilians, and security personnel. Medics rushed to and fro treating the groaning wounded. An Alliance lieutenant saluted Luke as the Jedi Master entered.

'Master Jedi, sir,' said the Lieutenant, 'we've got the ground floor secured. Our gunships above say the enemy Force wielder is on the roof. We tried firing at him, but no sell, sir. Laser cannons, snipers, ion, nothing. We didn't try missiles because we figured he'd use the Force to redirect those at us or at civilians.'

'Do you have anything else?' Luke asked. 'Sonic or concussion weapons? Slugthrowers?'

The lieutenant shrugged. 'Nothing with any good amount of range, sir.' He pulled a pistol from his holster and gave it to Luke grip first. 'I've got a sonic sidearm and some of my men have rifles, but every team we've sent up there has ended up messily.'

Luke took the pistol and holstered it. It would be far more useful than a regular blaster when it came to dealing with lightsabers, at least, though the range on the model he was given was pitiful. 'Alright, Lieutenant, stay here and keep the home fires burning. I'm going up there myself.'

'Do you want me to send some of my men with you, sir?'

The Jedi shook his head as he entered an elevator. They would only slow him down. 'Negative. You've lost enough troops here already.'

Luke hit the button for the top floor and readied his equipment. Grenades, check. Shigawire, check. Lightsaber and vibroblade, check. Blasters properly hidden, check. This was as ready as he'd ever be. He just wished he could find the source of that damned elevator music so he could shut it down. The singer kept ragging on about never giving someone up or letting them down.

* * *

Kharak waited patently on the roof as the gunships circled. The burn marks on the ground all around the speeder landing pad were evidence of the many, many attempts to break through his defenses. Spirited, he thought, but ultimately futile. It was a massive square arena, fitting for the battle with the Jedi he'd sensed during the space battle. Off to the sides stood gigantic slabs of durasteel, one side highly reflective to shield the upper floors from midday heat and the other side covered in solar panels to catch the morning and twilight sunlight. The winds up at the top were so strong and so loud that he almost didn't notice the ding of the elevator.

Out stepped Luke Skywalker, lightsaber drawn and ready. Kharak, feigning ignorance, paced along the floor before raising his palm and clenching it into a fist. Abruptly, the Ranger gunships' engines crumpled and exploded, sending them and their crews down in flames. Luke watched with horror as they plummeted from the sky while Kharak chuckled.

'Oh, yes, Jedi,' Kharak rumbled, 'I'm not just some plebeian Dark Jedi pretender. It's a shame your order only sent one to kill me. Jedi and fellow Sith were the only opponents worth a damn in the old days, and it seems times haven't changed.'

Luke circled warily, studying Kharak's stance and movements. 'All the Order _needed_ to send was one, Sith. I'm putting an end to this now.'

'Now?' Kharak asked mockingly. 'But the game's only started to get _good_.'

Luke kept his calm, continuing to watch, waiting for an opportunity to strike. 'This isn't a game, Sith. You know that, and I know that. This is much more lethal than any game has a right to be.'

'Oh, but it _is_ a game,' Kharak retorted. 'I know games, Master Jedi, because this sort of bloodsport is exactly the sort of thing I and my fellow apprentices got up to in our childhoods on Korriban. And by the _Force_, we loved hunting the new kids and slaves in the ruins. Something about their screams. Kids are cruel, Jedi, and I'm _very_ in touch with my inner child.'

Luke shook his head. 'Oh, I see. You're insane. I'll give you one chance. Surrender now and lay down your arms.'

'Or what? You'll get sanctimonious at me, Jedi?' Kharak laughed. 'I can listen to you preach all day about the Light, my friend. I have all day, and killing you is going to be long, slow, and _painful_.'

Luke rolled his eyes. Why did none of these maniacs ever choose the easy way out? He ignited his lightsaber. Curiously, the Sith didn't bother even touching the two sabers hanging from his own belt. 'Alright, then, have it your way. I'll make this quick and painless.'

Kharak uncrossed his arms and reached out with the Force, raising small gusts that spun the sand at his feet in lazy arcs. He felt none of the heat, despite his heavy robes and mask, even at midday with the twin suns over Paradise.

'You can be crueler than that, Jedi.'

Luke didn't bother with an answer. The time for talk was over. Once again, a Jedi and Sith clashed amid the sands of Tatooine.


	20. 19: I'm in Control

19

I'm in Control

The Dread Master's physical strength was insane, on par with Darth Vader's thanks to cybernetics and the aid of the Force. Kharak pushed Luke back, battering the Jedi Master's defenses with his bare hands, showering the landing pad with sparks. Of course, Kharak's enthusiasm detracted from his finesse. He kept a punch held back just a split second too long, allowing Luke to deactivate his saber and duck at the last moment. Stumbling, the Dread Master took a blast to the gut as Luke quick-drew his sonic pistol. The Sith staggered back, momentarily dazed by the blow. Luke emptied the pistol's energy cell, dumping shot after shot into the Sith until the gun clicked dry. Kharak stood there for a moment, doubled over in what appeared to be pain. Luke holstered the empty sonic pistol and drew his blaster pistol. No sense finishing off a standing enemy in melee when one could confirm the kill at long range. But then the winds died down, and Luke heard Kharak laughing. Luke ignored him and opened fire. Kharak shuddered as the blaster bolts landed, but his Force defenses held. He felt little aside from a slight stinging sensation, prompting even more laughter as charged, using the Force to grant himself supernatural speed. Luke dodged, rolling to the side as Kharak slammed his fist into the ground where he once stood. Kharak followed up by tearing his fist free, catching Luke in the chest with a vicious backhand. Luke cried out in pain as he felt bones break, twisting in mid-air to soften the pain of his landing. Drawing on his Force reserves, Luke channeled healing energies into his ribcage, slowly repairing the bone as he rose unsteadily.

'I'm unkillable, Jedi,' the Dread Master rumbled. 'The Republic's finest couldn't kill me, your Alliance whelps couldn't kill me, and _you_ can't kill me.'

Dun Moch, or at least a clumsy attempt at such. Sith always loved trying to taunt their enemies. Luke had a running tally going for all the cliche threats and jokes Dark Siders uttered. 'You do not know the true power of the Dark Side' was up there in the ten thousands. Variations on 'You can't kill me' rated a close second at about nine thousand one. The best thing to do was to use the time to think, because most Dark Siders didn't know the definition of proper multitasking. Most took the time to pace, gesticulate, and engage in general theatrics rather than continuing the fight.

'You know,' Luke said, catching his breath, 'the Jedi have learned a lot of things over the years. For one, there's a little technique that's been passed down my family line for generations. Works like a charm for people like you.'

Kharak straightened and crossed his arms, snorting derisively. 'Really? And what would that be?'

Luke smirked. It really was something that worked every time. When faced with a foe that couldn't be overcome by brute strength or saber skill, one had to rely on other resources and techniques. Subterfuge. Subtlety. Trickery. He turned tail and ran.

Kharak stood dumbfounded for a moment, unsure how to handle the idea of a Jedi just up and fleeing. But then the chase began. Kharak and Luke darted around the landing pad, the Dread Master just a step behind as he tore gouges and punched craters in the landing pad and surrounding solar panels with his fists and the Force. Luke smirked, ducking, weaving, jumping, and sliding, relying on his greater agility to remain ever so slightly out of Kharak's reach. He ran circles around the Dread Master, but every chase ends with a misstep. Kharak saw the miscalculated step just before Luke did and, with a triumphant howl, drew his lightsabers and drove them into Luke Skywalker's forehead.

Kharak growled, 'Pathetic, Jedi-'

'The next thing you'll say is, "That was as easy as smothering a baby."'

'That was as easy as smothering a baby. Wait, _what_?'

Kharak looked up, seeing his lightsabers still rammed into the Jedi Master's head, but Luke appeared to be the picture of health, putting on the most infuriating smirk he could muster.

'How did you-'

'Look again. Notice anything odd about the background?'

Kharak froze. The damage done to the background, the scars torn into the landing pad and solar panels by their deadly dance, exactly mirrored the damage done to the space behind him. He'd struck too early. He hadn't killed Luke at all, driving his lightsabers into Luke's reflection in the solar panel. Throughout the fight, Luke had reached out quietly with the Force, probing his foe's mental defenses. He noticed that Kharak's focus waned when he reveled in the thrill of combat. The whole chase had been to spur the Dread Master to further heights of adrenaline, taking his mind away from the fact that Luke had been using the Force to affect his perception the whole time. Luke saw the opportunity and pounced, leaping towards his enemy.

With a roar of anger, Kharak swung his lightsabers away from the solar panel, bringing them up in a block as he and Luke locked blades. 'Is that your strategy, Jedi? Trickery?'

Kharak opened his palms, buffeting Luke away with paired Force whirlwinds, kicking up a stream of sand and rubble that tore at Luke's skin and clothing. Grunting in pain, Luke called on the Force, projecting a small barrier to soften the damage. _Check your belt_, he sent telepathically.

Kharak did, and saw that Luke had attached one of his grenades to it. With a casual flick of the Force, Kharak whisked the grenade away, scoffing at such an amateurish maneuver. 'A cheap parlor trick!'

Luke backed away and rose, his smirk never leaving his face. 'Check the grenade again, buddy.'

The grenade Kharak had thrown aside was still inactive, a decoy around which Luke had wrapped a portion of the shigawire he'd packed. The rest of the wire was tied to the arming pins on the grenades Luke had attached to Kharak's back. He'd spent the last, close-range part of the chase dodging around Kharak, taking care to wrap the nearly invisible wire around the Dread Master. Luke held up the empty grenade belt.

'The next thing you're going to say is, "Impossible!"'

'I-Impossible!' Kharak stammered, moments before the grenades detonated. Luke drew his blaster pistol, slotted in a new energy cell, and unloaded into the flames, pouring all of the magazine's fifty shots into the silhouette writhing in the flames. Empty, he reactivated his lightsaber and took a step forward right as Kharak charged forth, a walking fireball as he moved to close into melee range. His first lightsaber swing went wide and Luke sideslipped, bringing his own blade up in an arc that took Kharak's arm off at the elbow. Ignoring the pain, Kharak rammed the stump of his arm into Luke's head, an unexpected move that staggered the Jedi long enough for Kharak to knock Luke's lightsaber out of his hand. Luke dropped, his head ringing from the hammer blow, Kharak's remaining arm and lightsaber raised to deliver a coup de grace.

'You fought well,' Kharak said, his voice little more than a ragged gurgle beneath his melting golden mask, 'but-'

'The next thing you're going to say,' Luke muttered, 'is "You underestimate the power of the Dark Side."'

'-you underestimate the power of the Dark Side...Eh?'

That moment's pause gave Luke enough time to unsheathe his vibroblade, spring up, and slam it into the Sith's throat. Kharak froze. Then he dropped his lightsaber as Luke twisted the blade. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, he fell, the first Dread Master to be slain in over three thousand years. Luke panted, removing the vibroblade and retrieving his gear.

'And for the record,' he said, 'even Caedus could have kicked your ass.'

* * *

Calphayus tensed and paled as he sensed his student's passing. Altis felt it as well, twitching, filled with anger and sadness for the loss of a brother in arms.

'He is dead,' the elder said decisively.

The younger Dread Master clenched his fists, punching a nearby bulkhead with enough force to dent the durasteel. Aboard the bridge of the Star Destroyer, _Iron Maiden_, the two Dread Masters watched over the proceedings of the Abrion Sector siege. Kharak had been so eager to lead the Arkanis group. His belligerence had cost him and the Admiral. The bridge officers and the Star Destroyer's shipmaster flinched, their focus on the space battle over Kamino broken by the sudden noise.

Kamino was the focus of the Abrion flank for a number of reasons. Daala desired its cloning technology, first and foremost. The soldiers she could muster using Kaminoan tech would be superior to anything produced by the more common Spaarti systems, and their numbers would make her unstoppable in the Outer Rim. Furthermore, the prospect of immense profit would draw in countless bounty hunters and mercenaries looking to make a quick credit from selling their genetic code. In addition, Kamino was just a few short hyperspace jumps away from the edges of the Abrion Sector, which bordered the Mid-Rim and sat close to the Death Wind Corridor, a hyperlane that eventually led to the vital Corellian Run and the Alliance forces' main supply route in the Outer Rim. Without that, they would wither on the vine and Daala could weather them down with an endless tide of clones and pirate scum. And for Altis and Calphayus, the clone army was the first step on the road to usurping the Admiral and taking the reins of this rebel movement.

'We will avenge him, Master,' Altis said.

'That we will, my boy. We shall sit idle no longer. Gather your wits and commune with me. Together, we shall lead this fleet to victory and compose a funeral dirge with the Alliance soldiers' screams.'

The two Sith sat cross-legged on the bridge floor, clearing their minds to properly reach out with the Force. What they performed was not truly battle meditation. It was not as refined or communicative, relying on stoking the base passions of those nearby. Together, the Dread Masters could reach both the Maw and Alliance fleets at once, fueling the aggression in their allies and channeling the power of the Phobis Device into the minds of the Alliance lackeys. In seconds, the entire star system would ring with the roars and screams of thousands.

* * *

Aboard the bridge of Han Solo's flagship, the crewmen did not scream. The fear they felt was deep, primal, the kind of fear the earliest humans faced when confronted with a predator in the deepest jungles of their history. Perhaps it was their discipline, strengthened by years of campaigning and some of the worst wars the galaxy had ever faced. Perhaps it was the fact that some had already experienced the rigors of battling with Dark Siders and learned the techniques Jedi taught to resist unnatural mental influences. Perhaps it was the reassuring presence of a allied Jedi nearby. It could have been any number of factors, but regardless, they did not falter.

'Bring us closer,' Han said, gritting his teeth and fighting the Dread Masters' influence with all the mental fortitude he could muster. They just had to capture the ImpStar Deuce leading the attack. It would contain nav data leading to the Maw's inner reaches, of that he had no doubt. 'I want us within range to launch boarding parties. We're not letting this ImpStar Deuce's navicom records get away.'

'Aye aye, sir!' barked the bridge officers, dutifully going about their tasks, using the work to help distract them from their fear.

Han turned to the Jedi Luke had assigned to his fleet. No Dark Sider ever worked alone. Everyone knew that, and Han and Luke both agreed that assigning additional Jedi strengths to the campaign would be the prudent thing to do.

Han turned to the Jedi now. 'Time for you to do what you do best.'

Kyle Katarn saluted and bared his teeth. It wasn't quite a smile, resembling more closely the image of a carnivore who has just scented prey. As he exited the door, he checked the time on his chrono. When he realized the significance of the hour, he checked his pockets for the appropriate thing to masticate in such a situation, only to come up empty-handed. Kyle Katarn sighed. He was all out of bubblegum.


	21. 20: Death on Two Legs

20

Death on Two Legs

'Remind me again why we're doing this and not enjoying a space margarita on some tropical beach?'

Kyle Katarn adjusted the straps on his gear and donned his void suit's helmet. He would have preferred the freedom of movement granted by his normal mission attire, but horrible things tended to happen during boarding actions, including vented atmosphere. He ran through an inventory check that bordered on ludicrous: grenades, Bryar pistol, sonic pistol, blaster carbine, detpacks, lightsaber, vibroblade, concussion rifle, hull breaching kit, beard maintenance kit, stimpacks. The only thing he lacked was bubblegum. Jan hadn't been able to find any in the ship's glove box either.

'You know you love the danger, Jan,' Kyle said.

'I swear, I'm getting too old for this.'

'I'm not seeing it.'

'Nice try, Beardface. Get ready, I'm popping the hatch in one minute.'

The _Raven's Claw_ darted through the furball over Kamino, weaving through debris clouds and streams of laser fire as A-wings and E-wings cleared the way. As always, Jan Ors sat in the pilot's seat, the more competent jockey of its two occupants. Unfortunately, _Mon Karren_, Han's flagship, had been forced by concentrated enemy fire to maneuver away before the other marine boarding teams could be deployed. That left Kyle as the only one able to do the job of taking _Iron Maiden_. Excellent.

'Ten seconds. Hope you did some stretching, Kyle.'

He'd done it fifteen seconds ago. Kyle Katarn armed his blaster carbine and shouldered the stock as the _Raven's Claw _decelerated. He felt the hull shudder as Jan activated the courier ship's laser cannons, sweeping fire across the hangar in which they'd landed. Stormtroopers, pilots, and engineers were scythed down as they rose in an attempt to repel the courier with mere blasters. With a hiss of hydraulics, the boarding ramp descended. Kyle ran down the ramp as quickly as he could, sprinting to the exit doors, breached and melted by Jan's continuous laser fire. _  
_

'That's my part done,' Jan said on the comm. 'I'll power down, try to hold down the fort here.'

'Stay safe, fly girl,' Kyle said.

'Yub yub.'

* * *

Elsewhere within _Iron Maiden_, a pair of stormtroopers stood on guard duty in front of the armory. Unlike many of their fellows, they'd been instructed to remain at their posts.

'Hey,' said one.

'Yeah?'

'You ever wonder why we're here?'

The second trooper paused to consider the question. 'It's one of life's great mysteries, isn't it? Why _are_ we he-'

This incredibly derivative conversation would have continued quite a while had it not been interrupted by a sudden and acute case of stun grenade followed by repeated application of lightsaber to intact body parts. Kyle Katarn then proceeded to cut the armory door open to restock his ammunition and loot the explosives inside.

* * *

As a fire team of stormtroopers raced to intercept Kyle Katarn's bloody path through the ship, one of their number stopped, noticing something strange. It was a cardboard box, completely innocuous at first glance. Judging by the images printed on the sides, it had once contained space cheese. And, strangely, it seemed like it moved.

'GR-523,' called the sergeant, 'what the bloody hell are you doing? Form up back on us!'

'Sarge, I think I've got something.'

Grumbling, the sergeant beckoned the rest of the team over, weapons raised. 'This had better be good, private. What?'

523 gestured with his blaster. 'That box there. Isn't that an odd place for a box of space cheese?'

It really was. Sitting in the middle of a hallway, pointed at a jaunty angle rather than pushed to the side or a corner, it did strike a rather suspicious picture.

'Not really, trooper,' said the sergeant in an exaggerated tone. 'Now come on, let's get moving.'

For a moment, the stormtroopers turned away. The sergeant whipped around again suddenly, blaster aimed as he saw the box twitch ever so slightly. In the air vent above, Kyle Katarn had used the Force to push the box to and fro until the stormtroopers shot it. Now they gathered and bunched up. Perfect.

'Gotcha,' he muttered. Then the stormtroopers put a burst of fire through it, punching several holes through the side. 'All units, this is Gamma 2-1, we've found and neutralized the intr-'

A stun grenade dropped into their midst. Kyle shut his eyes and tilted his head away slightly to soften the effects on his own senses before dropping down. Still dazed, the Maw troopers reacted too slowly to stop Kyle from killing them all with a single wide swipe of his lightsaber.

* * *

'He's here! Oh sweet Space God, he's here! No! Back! Stay b-'

The line went static. A Maw Irregular sergeant cursed as he heard another of his security teams go dark. Around him, his A Team, the best men on the ship, sat in cover. It was as good a defense as any soldier could manage with the resources at hand. An E-web covered the corridor leading to the main areas of the ship, backed up by two riflemen with a marksman in cover in the back by the elevator to the bridge. It was just one man! What could one man possibly be doing that would utterly annihilate half of his marines in the space of a few minutes? Surely not even the Jedi could-

That was when the wall exploded. With the aid of explosive charges and creative lightsaber use, Kyle Katarn had managed to cut his way into the maintenance tunnels that snaked throughout the ship before breaching through the wall on the stormtrooper team's left flank. Before the dazed troopers could regain their senses, a pair of grenades rolled into their midst. Not a single one survived the two explosions. Whistling a jaunty tune, the Jedi Master poked the elevator call button and waited.

* * *

Lord Calphayus paid no heed to the panic on the bridge, still deep in a Force trance while marines and nonessential officers barricaded the elevator doors. Altis, meanwhile, paced restlessly, lightsaber drawn and eager to taste blood, ready to protect his master at a moment's notice. Where was this intruder? The reports had claimed that he was a Jedi, and yet his use of firearms, explosives, and subterfuge far exceeded what would be expected from such a warrior. The Jedi and Sith of old had been versed largely in the use of lightsabers and other melee weapons, with only basic demolitions training for the sake of destroying large objectives or defusing bombs.

As if on cue, the floor in the center of the bridge gave way as Kyle Katarn detonated another set of demolition charges. Almost immediately, a clutch of stun grenades flew up through the breach, disorienting all save for the Dread Masters. What came next was a mountain of guns, muscles, and beard, lightsaber in one hand and sonic pistol in the other.

'Ah, Master Jedi. Finally,' Altis said, 'I was beginning to think you'd given up and gone home.'

Kyle raised an eyebrow, his smirk visible through his helmet's face plate. 'Kept you waiting, huh?'

'Oh no,' yelled one of the bridge officers, 'he's found us! The Bearded One has breached our defenses! Flee! Flee and lay down your arms before he kills us all!'

The other Maw personnel present didn't need to be told twice. They dropped their weapons, the smart thing to do when faced with a Jedi Battlemaster. Most of them got to work frantically removing the barricades so they could escape down the elevator shaft. Altis shook his head and raised his free hand, lifting the mortal officers with the Force and draining them of their vitality. Calphayus rose slowly, drawing his own saber, an elegant double-bladed affair of polished chrome.

'You made a mistake coming here alone, Jedi,' Altis said, adopting a duelist's stance as he prepared for battle. 'Your folly shall be your und-'

A salvo of sonic fire interrupted the Dread Master's carefully concocted pre-fight speech, pushing him back several meters. Pistol emptied, Kyle holstered his weapon, opting to rely on his lightsaber and loaded weapons now rather than reloading with just one hand. In response, Calphayus tore a control console from the floor and lifted it with the Force, preparing to throw it at the Jedi.

'Insolent child,' the older Dread Master snarled, 'how dare y-'

This time, Kyle responded with a burst of blaster fire from his Bryar pistol, causing Calpahyus' concentration to falter as he futilely tried to deflect the first shots with just one hand, clumsily bringing the saberstaff up to protect himself. Only after taking five blaster bolts to the chest did he drop the debris and focus on deflecting Kyle's shots.

'Dammit, man, would you let us finish?'

Kyle shrugged and holstered the spent pistol, gripping his lightsaber in both hands, using the Force to leap towards the two Sith, opening the melee up with a vicious flurry of strikes that battered at the Sith's defenses. 'Let me guess,' he said, 'you're going to monologue about how you're such hot shit because you're Sith or old or something, then rant about how you're going to kill the Jedi and conquer the galaxy, right? Don't bother. It's probably been said before.'

'You'll regret your mockery soon enough!' Altis roared. He lunged, only for the Jedi to sidestep the strike and punch him in the throat.

'Sorry, what was that?'

Altis coughed. 'I said you'll-'

Katarn elbowed him in the throat this time, bringing his saber up to parry a strike from Calphayus at the same time. Pivoting, he took his lightsaber in an arc that took Altis' saber hand off, eliciting a choked yelp of pain. Before he could deliver the finishing blow, however, Calphayus hit him with a telekinetic wall of force, slamming him into a bank of computer terminals before pulling the ceiling down on top of him. While the Jedi tried to cut his way free, the Dread Masters took the opportunity to escape.

Cursing, Kyle heaved a layer of debris off and sliced at a fallen pair of support struts to get out. The only intact pieces of weaponry he had left were his lightsaber, vibroblade, Bryar pistol, and explosives. His carbine, sonic pistol, and concussion rifle had been smashed to uselessness. Judging by his heads-up display, the void suit's integrity had held. That was one good thing, at least. He rushed to the control station usually designated for navigation officers and tapped a series of commands out.

'Katarn to _Mon Karren_, I've accessed the navicom. Looks like they were too stupid or too busy to delete its hyperspace jump records. Expect a data transfer in a few seconds.'

Kyle keyed in the commands for a data transfer and punched in one of the Mon Cal Cruiser's comm frequencies. In a few seconds, the transfer was complete.

'_Mon Karren_ here,' Han said a moment later, 'transfer's good. We'll sort everything out later. Trash the bridge and get out of there.'

'Will do. Be advised, I confirm two Dark Siders aboard _Iron Maiden_. I'm in pursuit now.'

Kyle plucked a grenade from his webbing and set the timer, dropping it on the nav console before he hurried to the frontal viewport. The Sith would no doubt have taken the elevator and probably run to the escape pods after losing so much of the crew. After running the numbers, he concluded that the casualties he'd inflicted, combined with the Sith's callous disregard for employee survival, left the Star Destroyer with insufficient surviving personnel to continue the battle. Those two probably knew that and would almost certainly be looking to save their own hides. The elevator would take too long, and so would retracing his steps. So he decided to try something different. He hailed one of the Alliance B-wing squadrons.

'Thunder Squadron, this is Jedi Master Katarn. Please respond.'

'Thunder Leader to Katarn, send traffic.'

'Requesting a torpedo strike on _Iron Maiden_'s topside midsection, right above the dorsal hangar, over. Two torps.'

A pause. 'We can do that, sir. Two torpedoes, topside midsection above the dorsal hangar. Firing in three.'

Just then, a pair of B-wings swooped low over the Star Destroyer's command tower. From each B-wing, a single torpedo lanced out, blowing apart armor plating and hull to tear open a breach.

'Good hits, Thunder,' Katarn said, 'thanks for the help.'

Lightsaber ignited, Kyle walked up to the front viewport and cut an X into the center. Then he lifted up a piece of debris with the Force and flung it through the weakened transparisteel, smashing it outward and causing the bridge to vent air. He moved with the flow, leaping outwards into space and activating his void suit's maneuvering thrusters with great care, making sure to push himself towards the hull breach. Slowly. Slowly. Easy does it, he thought. A little bit of course correction here, and..._there_ we go.

* * *

The Star Destroyer's crewmen were still unaware that their ship was lost. Sitting at their stations and only vaguely aware of the intruder situation, most of the gunners and engineers continued to follow their orders. The marines, of course, were all dead. Calphayus and Altis were virtually unnoticed as they hurried to the escape pods. The younger Dread Master let out a string of multilingual profanity, clutching at the stump of his arm. They stumbled slightly as an impact rocked the ship. Well, at least they managed to escape to fight another day. Calphayus was confident that he could have taken the Jedi on himself, but he had no wish to lose another of his students so soon after Kharak's death. They would retreat, dress Altis' wounds, and prepare for a fight on their own terms. If they could exploit the Admiral's goodwill and intel just a little longer, Calphayus thought, they could strike out on their own, usurp her, and-

The Dread Master's reverie was interrupted by another explosion. With the last of his demolition charges, Kyle Katarn blew the ceiling down on top of the two.

'Found you,' the Jedi growled. Calphayus only managed to dodge at the last second. Altis, distracted by his pain, was flattened by the blast. Calphayus stepped over his student, blocking Katarn's lightsaber as he tried for another killing blow. It was only a momentary respite, however. In these close quarters, Calphayus' saberstaff was an unwieldy, overly long weapon, unsuited for countering the Jedi's short, controlled thrusts and swipes. Kyle ducked a swing from the saberstaff and came in low, swinging his blade upwards and cutting the weapon in two with a shower of sparks. Again, his attempted killing strike was foiled as Altis finally gathered his senses, turning the strike aside with his own lightsaber, a single-bladed weapon more suited for the environment.

For a moment, Altis managed to push the Battlemaster back out of sheer desperation. The Dread Masters were not like other Sith. Though their normal brethren had built up a culture of betrayal and deceit, the Dread Masters fought and lived for one another as a unit, drawing strength from their bonds, a twisted copy of the unity the Jedi displayed in combat. At their height, the Dread Masters would have easily murdered dozens of the Jedi Order's best, using their mastery of the Force, Sith alchemy, and lightsaber combat to reap a bloody toll on the battlefield. But this was not the time of the Old Republic. Altis and Calphayus were rusty, atrophied still despite the hundreds of innocents they'd drained of life in the past weeks. And Kyle Katarn was Kyle Katarn.

Altis could only bring one arm's strength to bear as he tried to defend against the Jedi's strikes. A hammer blow drove him to his knees. Calphayus attempted to tag in for his downed apprentice, only to catch a Force-flung vibroblade to the chest that sent him reeling. Altis roared in anger, leaping to his feet and bringing his saber back for a swing. He left himself open for just a touch too long. Kyle's shorter, faster swing caught him on his mask, causing him to stagger and turn. Realizing what was to come, Altis only uttered a single word to his master before Kyle Katarn ran a lightsaber through his heart.

'Run.'


	22. 21: Seven Seas of Rhye

21

Seven Seas of Rhye

Kyle Katarn scanned the stormy seas of Kamino through a thermal scope, panning his sniper rifle left and right as he surveyed the escape pod's estimated landing site. The pod floated and bobbed with the current, its hatch open, the cabin empty. Jan had set the _Raven's Claw_ to repulsorlifts, hovering low over the waves. They'd been at this for the past few hours already, scanning map grid square after grid square, widening their estimations in an attempt to hunt down the third Dread Master.

'Hunter 1-1 to Master Katarn, another sector searched. Nothing, sir.'

'Hunter 1-2, nothing here either.'

Similar responses came down the line from the other Alliance Marine recon teams.

'Kyle,' said Jan, 'we're running low on fuel. I can keep us on site for another five minutes. Then we have to head back up to the fleet for refuel.'

The Bearded One sighed and lowered his rifle. He didn't like this. He had confirmed the kill on the younger Sith, but the master was still out there somewhere. No Sith would ever suffer as anticlimactic a fate as drowning. If there was one thing he'd learned in his long career, it was to never accept that someone was dead until you've seen the body and even then, double-tapping followed by dismemberment and ejection into a star or black hole were the only ways to really be sure. Well, not double-tapping. Sith needed somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty. Thousand. Just to make sure. Still, the campaign had a timetable to keep and fuel supplies were finite. Right now, he and these marines would be needed up in the fleet, resting for the next fight.

'Alright, Jan. Nothing here. Take us up.' He switched frequencies to the Alliance general band. 'Katarn to Hunter teams, abort your search. We're done here.'

Jan was worried, too. 'Why do I get the feeling this guy will come back to bite us in the ass?'

'Because he probably will. Bring an extra pair of pants. Meanwhile, I've got to break the news to Luke and the General.'

* * *

Rhye was a world that was almost entirely ocean, its surface dotted by island chains created by volcanic activity. The third planet from the star of the Saronal system, Rhye was a nearly untouched jewel in the Outer Rim, its only structures an old fighter base that dated back to the earliest days of the Rebellion and a network of fuel refineries and pipelines that had been used to feed the Alliance war effort since its capture three days ago. Of course, its location close to the front also made it a vulnerable and appealing target for the fuel-hungry Maw Irregular Fleet.

'Nice day for a dogfight,' Sund remarked, taking in the scenery. Rogue and Alpha Squadrons rose into the clouds above the tropics of the planet Rhye, spotting the bright trails of atmospheric entry flares as the enemy's starfighter formations dove into battle. Below them was a sprawling archipelago, islands of deep green lined by white sands amid the cerulean waves of the planet's seas.

Syal was inclined to agree. She wasn't much of a beach person, but this certainly looked like a nice place to relax if they ever got the chance. 'Clear this place fast enough and you may just get to enjoy the surface, Twelve.'

'Bit too warm for my tastes,' Aresh said. No doubt, the Chiss would have preferred somewhere chillier, having grown up on an ice world.

Polearm Squadron fell into formation alongside the Rogues and Alphas, having launched mere seconds after the X-wings.

'Welcome to the party, slowpokes,' Vigil taunted. The rivalry between X- and A-wing jocks was a friendly one, but also an intense one. It had lasted ever since the Rebel Alliance began issuing the things to starfighter squadrons. A-wing pilots would boast about their superior speed and maneuverability, and the X-wing crowd would mock them for bruising so easily. The arguments went back and forth, and they had only intensified as Incom made more and more improvements to the X-wing line's engines and acceleration.

'Oh, we were already up here, Rogue Five,' replied Commander Konnair, 'we just had to go back because Polearm Three forgot his security blanket.'

'Polearms,' Syal interrupted, 'you're cleared to engage as you please. We'll fight the bad guys while you circlejerk to your turning radii. Alphas, you're cleared, too.'

'I'll get you for that one, Antilles,' Konnair said before hitting afterburners, leading the A-wings on a course to intercept the first enemy fighters.

'Alpha Leader here,' said Baron Fel, 'engaging.'

Spark beeped, pulling up data on the closest enemy fighters. It was a varied mix of craft, ranging from old Z-95s to T-wings to Pursuer Enforcement Ships. Mercenaries, then, probably meat shields sent to wear the Alliance fighters down and waste ammo before the Maw's heavy hitters came in. The A-wings and Defenders had already reached maximum weapons range, judging by the missile contrails she could see. Syal set her strike foils to attack position and diverted power to acceleration.

'Look alive, Rogues. Time to show these pirates that these are _our_ skies.'

* * *

Baron Fel rolled his fighter and broke to starboard, pursuing a pair of enemy Preybirds with ST-166. He set his lasers to dual-fire-though quad-linking his laser cannons would kill the Preybirds more quickly, it was safer to use a more rapid fire mode to more easily deal with the rear-mounted concussion missile tube.

'Bandit on my tail! I can't shake him!' yelled one of the Preybird pilots.

Fel silenced him, pumping laser fire into the starfighter's tailpipe. The other Preybird survived long enough to loose a missile at Fel's Wrath, but the TIE pilot shot the missile the instant it left the tube. The explosion ripped the Preybird's entire aft end to shreds, sending the fighter down to the ocean in flames. Clearing his targeting computer, Fel climbed back to the top of the furball to reacquire another target when he saw one of the A-wings explode in mid-air. Then a wickedly sharp TIE silhouette zipped past the debris cloud, firing lasers and ion cannons.

'Gold Four to flight, target the black X-wing.'

Three more Hunters dove into the fray, their wingtips painted a brilliant gold that shone in the bright midday sun.

Fel opened a channel to the Alliance fighters. 'Alpha Leader to all units, enemy Hunters are in the field. Mark them as priority targets.'

* * *

Syal inverted and dove, corkscrewing and sideslipping irregularly to dodge the laser and ion fire nipping at her tail. Laser lock tones sounded and broke in her cockpit as she slipped in and out of her assailant's crosshairs. Her X-wing's armor burns, though superficial, had been impossible to clean off after the battle at Kalbe. Due to the lack of damage, she hadn't been able to refit her X-wing with new armor plating and there had been a shortage of white and gray paint on the fleet. At Wes' suggestion, she'd finished the burns' job and painted her X-wing black, giving it a rakish color scheme that immediately marked her as a target. Though it attracted attention, it also drew the enemy's ire away from Leda, who no doubt would have enough trouble getting used to flying with her prosthetic leg.

'Two, clear my six, would you?'

'On it. Break to port..._now!_'

Syal complied wordlessly, pulling her X-wing into a tight turn and leading the Hunter into her wingmate's crosshairs. A second later, Spark's rear camera visual feed showed the TIE pulling away, its shields flickering weakly as Leda hit it with a solid quad-blast. Her pursuer thrown off, Syal flicked through her available targets and settled on a flight of green-striped enemy R-41 Starchasers. Spark's technical analysis indicated that the Starchaser flight fielded extended-range concussion missiles. XRCMs were lethal sniping weapons, but the modifications made to improve their effective range also hurt their atmospheric maneuverability, meaning that they would have difficulty correcting their course if they missed the mark at medium to short range. In addition, they had a fifth member, an R-42, modified for sensor jamming, no doubt to make it harder for targets to detect incoming missiles. Gimmicky prey, but they were till nothing but prey. Starchasers were fragile craft normally, and even with armor upgrades, they would have a hard time taking more than one direct hit from a quad-linked blast.

Syal closed quickly with the Starchasers, closing to maximum laser range. She wasn't exactly the most inconspicuous target, either.

'Falchion 2 to Flight, the burned X-wing's closing in. Hit it hard at range.'

Syal gritted her teeth as she heard four missile lock tones blaring at once. Unfortunately for the Starchaser flight, they fired too late. Syal snap-rolled over the missiles, blasting one out of the air and dodging the rest. By the time the other missiles had turned ninety degrees, Syal had painted the lead Falchion pilot with a good laser lock. She fired twice, vaping the starfighter with expertly-placed cockpit shots. Unnoticed by the Starchasers, Leda came in behind her, lancing a second R-41 with a close-range torpedo shot.

'Good kill, Two,' Syal said.

Climbing, the two X-wings acquired new targets, tearing through a half-squad of Razor Fighters with torpedo and laser fire before looping around to vape the remaining Starchasers, whose craft were too fragile to survive the fighting at knife fight range Syal so favored.

'Another elite merc unit down,' Leda observed. 'Looks like we've got Maw TIEs mixed in as well.'

'They're ours, Two. Let's get them.'

* * *

Baron Fel loosed his last pair of concussion missiles, locking onto a wing team of Pursuer starfighters and firing at close range. Then he turned to dance with the enemy TIEs. He knew that the gold-winged Hunters were led by his own clone. That gave him an idea. First, he opened a secure, encrypted channel to Alpha Squadron.

'Lead to all, I'm about to try something stupid. Five, you have command of the squadron for now. Don't trust my voice if you hear it on any open or old comm frequencies.'

Alpha Five sounded confused. 'Uh, alright, sir. Will do.'

Fel closed the channel and switched to open broadcast as he closed in on the TIE Hunter flight, which continued to maintain formation despite the confusion of the air battle. He had to admit, they were disciplined bastards.

'Gold Leader to Four, bandit closing in on you. Break to starboard..._now_.'

Instinctively, one of the Hunters swerved to starboard, no doubt totally accustomed to taking orders from Fel's voice.

'Wait, Gold Four,' said one of the TIE pilots, 'who the hell is-'

Baron Fel vaped the lead Hunter before they could catch on, popping Gold Four's shields with a twin-linked ion shot before following up with a burst of laser fire that tore off the fighter's port strike foils. Burning and out of control, the Hunter plummeted towards the ocean.

'Gold Four, eject! Eject!'

'The handle's stuck! It's jammed!'

ST-166 silenced the wingman, probably Gold Five, with a pair of concussion missiles to the tailpipe. Two down, two to go.

* * *

'Polearm Six, ejecting!'

Syal saw an A-wing pilot bail out as his fighter was lit up by laser and ion fire. The TIE Hunter wing pair that downed him zipped past, turning to search for Syal's fighter. She and Leda obliged, chasing after them on full throttle.

'Polearm Five here, Six has a good chute. Requesting downed pilot retrieval at coordinates-'

Before the A-wing pilot could finish, however, an enemy Ugly shot past him, shooting Polearm Six out of the sky. Polearm Five cursed loudly in outrage.

'Five, this is Polearm Leader, what's going on?'

'They're shooting at bailed out pilots! The bastards are shooting ejected pilots!'

Syal grimaced. She understood Polearm Squadron's anger. Even before the Rebellion, there had been an unspoken code of honor in the galaxy's piloting community, a general sense of chivalry. Though it was perfectly acceptable to use every dirty trick, ruse, and weapon available to oneself to win a dogfight, hostility ended the moment the pilot was extravehicular or retreating. Noncombatants were left alone, as were medical facilities. Of course, the pilot's code of honor wasn't always observed. The Galactic Empire's pilots often shot down retreating Rebel craft, and medical ships often came under fire in the heat of combat, but those days were over. Shooting a downed pilot was an unnecessary and malicious waste of time and weaponry, an act only slightly less reviled than bombing civilians or placing weapons on a hospital. She was glad the TIE Hunter pilots had been honorable enough to leave Leda alone after destroying her X-wing above the Round Table.

She pushed those thoughts from her mind and focused on the fight, yawing to port to avoid debris from an explosion then correcting to continue chasing the lead TIE Hunter's tail. The Hunters dove sharply, descending so far that they just barely avoided skimming the crests of waves. Syal fought to maintain a laser lock, always just barely missing, her shots tossing up great plumes of water and steam as the Hunters led them close to the rocks off the coast of one of the larger islands. It was a deadly game of cat and mouse, the fighters slipping through the narrow splits between rocks, pitting the X-wings' slightly narrower profiles against the TIEs' superior maneuverability. Even the slightest mistake would scrape a fighter against the rocks, bleeding precious speed and potentially dashing its pilot into a fine pulp. The Hunters broke to port, attempting to use a rock arch for cover. That was their first mistake. Syal stitched laser fire along the arch while Leda changed course to travel around the arch.

'Ah crap,' said one of the Gold Squadron pilots, realizing too late what they'd done.

Syal's laser fire melted away parts of the arch, bringing rock fragments down on the Hunters. A particularly large piece clipped the leader's wingtip, throwing him wildly off course. The top hatch blew open as the pilot tried to eject, only for him to collide with the cliff face of the island. A second later, Leda pulled a high-g turn, catching the last Hunter with a laser blast as it cleared the arch.

'Splash two,' Leda said smartly, arcing up and back to form up on Syal's six, making straight for the furball to finish the fight.

* * *

By the time the dogfight was over, the Rogues, Polearms, and Alphas had engaged and routed a force of seventy enemy starfighters of various make. Of the Maw and mercenary forces that had entered the skies of Rhye that day, only five managed to retreat to bring news of the battle back. Meanwhile, the Rogues had suffered no losses, Polearm Squadron had lost three pilots and five fighters, and the Alphas one pilot. The downed Imperial's fighter had been deemed salvageable and had been taken off the front lines for repairs. Not one of the four Gold Squadron pilots survived.

After the battle, the three squadrons were granted a few days of leave on Rhye's warm, tropical surface while fresh fighter units were cycled in. For Baron Fel's dour and serious bunch, that meant simulator practice, maintenance, and tactical study. For the Alliance pilots, that meant enjoying the beaches. There would be time for mourning later.

The Rogues had all gotten the same idea before the dogfight, and when they ditched their flight suits, it turned out they were all already suited up for fun in the sun.

Tur'in posed, muscles rippling almost unnaturally in the sun. He pulled a bottle from his flight suit's thigh pocket and gave the other Rogues a mischievous grin. 'Looks like it's time to oil up, baby. Did anyone bring a volleyball?'

Sund backed away, looking rather disturbed. He seemed rather unremarkable compared to his wingman, poking shamefully at his slight gut. 'Uh, pass on the oil, Top Guns. I think I'll go scrounge up a grill and some meat.'

Syal was the only one who hadn't thought to don beachwear under her gear. Beaches weren't really her thing. Lounging on her X-wing's nose, clad in plain military-issue shirt and shorts, she stretched out and basked in the planet's warmth, breaking out a book.

'Not going to enjoy the sand and surf, Rogue Leader?'

Baron Fel, still fully geared up, leaned on Syal's X-wing. His niece shrugged.

'I forgot to pack appropriately,' she said sheepishly. 'Besides, a good book is all I need.'

'What are you reading?'

'_Revan_. It's a historical novel about some old Sith Lord-turned-redeemed Jedi.'

Fel raised the People's Eyebrow. 'Is it any good?'

Syal took a moment to consider the question before tossing the book in a corner and chuckling. 'Nnnnnnnnope. It's crap. Complete crap.'

'Thought so,' Fel said. 'I read that title, too. Garbage. Too much artistic license for my tastes. I recommend _The Glove of Darth Vader_.'

'Is _that_ any good?' Syal had learned the art of artful eyebrow movement from her uncle, and she practiced it here with a great deal of skepticism.

'Nnnnnnnnope,' Fel replied after a pause. 'But it's the good kind of crap. Cheese that's good for the soul.'

'You mean like your speeches?'

'Oooh, that hurt. By the way, you have a guest.' Fel pointed at Commander Konnair, who was waiting patiently by the hangar door.

Syal blinked in surprise. 'Uh, I wasn't aware that-Gah!'

She sputtered in surprise as Konnair dumped a bucket of sea water on her head.

'X-wings a shit!' Konnair yelled as she ran off.

Syal coughed and cursed before chasing after her fellow Commander. This violation of her honor would not stand. It demanded retribution of the most childish kind.

'Kids these days.' Baron Fel rolled his eyes and went back to work. TIE Defenders were notorious among the Empire's fighter squadrons for being hangar queens. They weren't as bad as B-wings or Missile Boats, but their parts were still delicate enough to require hours upon hours of maintenance between missions. Though he could have left the job to the squadron mechanics, he preferred to oversee and contribute to his fighter's pampering. If anything, it was educational and it kept him busy. It also kept the Wraiths away during their pranking hours, since they were loath to disrupt the delicate engineering rituals that went on when one was elbow-deep in fighter parts. Pissing off a pilot while he was working on his ride wasn't something even they wanted to do. He was about to pop open the engine access hatch on his Defender when an Alliance officer came up to him with a salute and datapad.

'What's this about?'

The lieutenant shrugged. 'Don't know, sir. I was told it was for your reading only. It's a message from the fleet, sir.'

Fel took the datapad cautiously. Why did he suddenly feel like he was going to get dragged along on a Wraith Squadron stealth mission? He silently begged to the powers that be that it wasn't a temporary reassignment to the Wraiths. Then he opened the datapad and read its contents.

'Ah, crap.'


	23. 22: Through Wars of Worlds

22

Through Wars of Worlds

Vigil and Nodra flipped the movement dials for their miniature starfighters and picked up their measurement tools. As they moved miniatures and applied stress tokens to fighters who had pulled particularly tough maneuvers, Nodra furrowed his brow. They sat in the common area of Rhye Base's living quarters, tired from a game of oiled up, totally heterosexual and platonic beach volleyball with the rest of the Rogues. It was their last day of rest before their return to the fleet.

'You're going to barrel roll your B-wing, aren't you,' he observed.

'Mmhm.' Vigil pulled out a short movement template and scooted his miniature B-wing to starboard, out of the firing arc of Nodra's TIE Defender and into a perfect firing position. After another minute or so of passing focus, target lock, and evade tokens around, they moved to the combat phase.

'Damn,' he said halfheartedly. 'Alright, then. Fire away, coward.'

Vigil picked up a few red attack dice and did so, declaring that he was using the B-wing's heavy laser cannon instead of its regular lasers for the job. At that exact moment, Syal walked in and raised an eyebrow. She'd switched out her soaked shirt and shorts for an undershirt and spare set of flight pants after exacting her revenge on Commander Konnair. The events that transpired would remain classified for the next fifty galactic standard years, but they were certainly incredibly juvenile.

'Really? You two are playing games?'

Vigil and Nodra both gave her a look.

'Boss, you're calling _us_ nerds?' Vigil said with mock incredulity.

'Hey, we're someplace warm and tropical,' she responded. 'It's perfect for being outdoors.'

'Too many bugs at this hour,' Nodra said. 'Besides, Commander, we all enjoyed the sand and surf. You, uh...what were you doing again?'_  
_

'Okay, you got me th-'

'And aren't you into this, too?' Vigil added, squinting with false suspicion.

Syal frowned. 'Alright, alright, so I engage in the occasional spot of gaming. Sue me.'

She climbed over the back of a couch and plopped down on its cushions, breaking out a datapad to fill out some paperwork. There was a pause before Nodra spoke up.

'Hey, Commander, do you just do wargaming or are you into RPGs, too?'

Syal bent her head backwards to look at them. 'The latter. Why?'

'Nodra, Bulsara, Rosharra, and I have been looking for a game master for a campaign,' Vigil said.

Syal considered it for a moment. 'What system?'

'We were thinking Trailblazer.'

Syal glared at him.

'It's the only sourcebook we have on us,' Vigil explained lamely. 'Please? We've been looking for a game master for _ages_.'

Syal sighed. 'I hate Trailblazer, but fine.'

Dear space gods, all the game systems in the 'verse and they had to bring Trailblazer instead of something good. Maybe one of these days, she'd find someone willing to run Gamma Blue. Or Corporate Sector Run. Or Shadowed Apostasy. Or Renegade Merchant. Or something that wasn't Trailblazer or 3.5. Maybe even Fringe of the Imperium or Epoch of Revolution.

* * *

Though Ben Skywalker was already completely in character, he still stared daggers at the Wraiths.

'Oh come on, Ben,' Myri said, unsuccessfully stifling her giggles, 'it doesn't look _that_ stupid.'

Ben Skywalker's costume consisted of white face paint, red lipstick, a beret, a black-and-white striped shirt, and black pants. For the sake of this mission, he had been required to take a vow of silence. He hadn't donned his disguise yet, but even the sight of it soured his mood. Myri was wrong. So very wrong. It _was_ that stupid.

'Look on the bright side,' said Piggy, unzipping the case for his own outfit, 'it's not as silly as mine.'

Indeed, it didn't. A massive ruffled collar, eye-wateringly bright polka-dotted jumpsuit, oversized shoes, and a multicolored afro wig. To top things off, Piggy fastened a large red nose to his snout. Honk honk. Baron Fel, meanwhile, wore a TIE flight suit modeled after the one his clone wore in the holo IG-90 had taken during the Battle of Sonteg. In addition, Fel had acquiesced to the installation of a temporary cybereye implant. After losing an eye in days long past, he had refused all offers of implantation, reasoning that the treatment and resources could have been used on someone in greater need. Of course, necessity here meant putting aside that stubborn pride. The holocapture system implanted in the eye would allow him to scan and record images of their area of operation, its defenses, and its garrisoned troop strengths.

Fel cringed when he saw just how gaudy Ben and Piggy looked. 'I feel sorry for you, kid, I really do.'

Piggy activated the hololith in the center of the Wraiths' briefing room aboard the _Claw_, cutting all the chatter short. In front of the Gamorrean floated a three-dimensional facsimile of their next area of operation. Their target could barely be called a space station. Originally, it had been an old, rickety _Lucrehulk_-class frame, but increasing business and a need for expansion had resulted in a number of crappy old freighter hulls and pieces of scrap metal being welded to it. Now, it resembled a spaceborne junk heap more than a Trade Federation capital ship, a ramshackle mass of uncontrolled and unplanned outward growth. It almost resembled Coruscant's deeper levels, in a way, both in physical appearance and clientele. It was a hub for mercenary and pirate activity, a neutral ground where scum, villainy, and job offers could meet in person. Rustlers, cutthroats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperadoes, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, con men, Imperial agents, Outer Rim bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswogglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, freighter robbers, bank robbers, ass-kickers, shit-kickers, and Space Methodists populated its rickety compartments. Thus, it had been unofficially named after one of Coruscant's most infamous levels. Now, it was under Maw control, serving as a staging area for both her forces and the mercenaries on her payroll. It sat in the Marada system, heavily defended by stationary defense turret platforms, heavily armed patrols, and numerous capital ships. If they could crack it open, the Alliance and Imperial Fleets would have access to the Maw's inner reaches.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' Piggy began, 'this is Space Station 1313, named after one of Coruscant's most infamous underlevels. Starfighter recon elements tell us that it's the weakest link in the Maw's defense perimeter, since it's largely staffed by mercs of variable quality rather than Daala's loyalists. Our job is, once again, to reconnoiter as much of the place as we can before exfil. The _Claw_ and its main escort elements will be departing for the Kalbe System in a few days, once the Solo Fleet takes over the defense of the Cabal, Khes, Geneb, and Lumis Systems.'

Baron Fel raised his hand. 'Commander, by "reconnoiter", you actually mean "reconnoiter and blow up", correct?'

Piggy smiled. It was almost as if Fel knew the Wraiths' playbook. 'Honk honk, Baron.'

* * *

Luke disembarked from his X-wing, running a quick post-flight check before removing his gloves and helmet. He was back aboard the _Tiger Claw_, still fresh from Han's end of the fight. With two of the three Sith dead and the third missing and injured, he was confident that Kyle's lethality and Han's ingenuity would suffice for their front. The Maw's advance had been checked, and what remained of its flanking force was in full retreat. It was time to fortify, reinforce, and prepare for the final phase of the campaign. He made his way to the bridge, where he greeted Wedge with a salute.

'How goes the war, General?' he asked with exaggerated formality.

Wedge smirked. 'Well. Very well. We're ahead of schedule, actually. Han's fleet is moving quickly. He's nearly chased the enemy force all the way back to the edge of the Maw Cluster and I just got word that the ships I sent back for repairs are at full fighting capacity again. With Pellaeon and Han around, we've got the firepower and numbers to handle her Star Destroyer and whatever escorts Daala throws at us.'

'Good,' Luke said. 'Once Daala's gone, maybe this galaxy might actually enjoy a few years of peace for once. How are Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie? Have we got fighters for them yet?'

Wedge nodded. 'I'm told we'll have three of the new StealthX-2s for them in the next supply shipment. I also took the liberty of having yours and mine added as well.'

'Only five, huh? Incom's still producing them as meticulously as ever?'

'Nope. We should also receive twelve extras for the Rogues and a whole lot of spare parts. Incom's eager to test their new birds out in proper combat, especially after seeing just how successful the BTL-X5. Koensayr's investors were popping the champagne when the Rogues turned in good reviews.'

That was an understatement. After receiving unanimously favorable feedback from the Rogues' test flights, Koensayr had been flooded by orders from planetary defense forces, Sector Rangers, and Alliance Starfighter Command. Even the Jedi had put in orders for a full squadron's worth of fighters and spare parts. The ease of maintenance, relatively low price tag, ordnance capacity, and the room for added modifications made it a very, very good potential replacement for the B-wing. Slayn &amp; Korpil's execs were no doubt getting their space panties in a twist over this new contender.

'So, we're all set to go?' Luke asked.

Wedge nodded, pulled up a strategic display on the bridge's holo-projector, and pushed away his hastily drawn-up notes. Luke saw that the Marada System, the one Pellaeon had previously described as a tough nut to crack, was highlighted, as were three other star systems. Han's fleet would divide into two groups and tackle the hyperlanes leading into the Maw's rimward flank. Pellaeon's fleet would also split, one half of his ships going to the Bastionward route, while the other half would join Wedge's strike force in breaking through Daala's coreward defenses. A series of smaller lines and arrows denoted the careful, snaking paths each battlegroup would take through the treacherous space within the Maw Cluster. Due to the abundance of black holes and ionized gases, safe navigation would be a slow, difficult, and tedious process. Even with the navicom data acquired from Daala's capital ships, Luke knew that the allied fleets' knowledge of the region paled in comparison to the Admiral's. She had spent much of her career here, and the push towards her headquarters would be fraught with traps, ambushes, and enemy raids.

'Ready as we'll ever be,' Wedge replied. 'Once the fleet regroups, we'll be sending in the Wraiths first. Once their part is done, we jump into Marada, capture it, and burn straight for the Ebon Corridor. We're going to strike them right in the throat.'

* * *

Daala grimaced as she read the after-action reports filed by the ranking officer of the flanking force. The Solo Fleet had been stronger than she estimated, and the Dread Masters' inability to kill any of the Alliance's Jedi support elements had proven irritating indeed. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair, staring at the strategic map before her and searching for answers. It was clear that the Alliance and Empire would aim for her mercenary base in the Marada System, and she had no doubts that they had discovered the most vital routes into and out of the Maw. She was surrounded and her resources were dwindling quickly. She had to act fast, break through the enemy perimeter and renew her offensive. But she would need the remaining Sith to take care of the Jedi. Only he had a decent chance of opposing them in the field.

She tapped a call button to sickbay. 'Doctor, have you received the patient yet?'

'We have, Admiral,' the doctor replied. 'The Sith Lord's been retrieved and dunked in bacta. He's stable.'

'Good. How long until we can get him back in the field?'

There was a pause as the ship's chief doctor analyzed Lord Calphayus' medical readouts in greater detail. 'Most normal sapients would need about two weeks in the tank and a month of rest before returning to active duty, but I'm not familiar on the healing capabilities of the Force. If the patient assists the recuperative process with his own Force powers, he could be ready to fight much sooner than my estimates.'

Daala frowned. She didn't like the doctor's lack of specificity, but when it came to the Force, numbers were difficult to come by. Still, she had an extra ace in the hole for when the Sith Lord next met the Alliance's Jedi in the field. She glanced once at her desk drawer, pondering the artifact inside and shuddering. Even to non-sensitives, the damnable thing radiated a palpable aura of fear. It wanted-no, it _hungered _for a new host._  
_

'Thank you, Doctor, that will be all. Keep me updated regularly on his status.'

'Aye aye, Admi-'

Daala cut the channel and called up Colonel Yulan.

'Colonel,' she said, 'do we still have secure communications with our Imperial contact?'

'We do, Admiral.'

Daala smiled predatorily. 'Good. Tell him that it's almost time to act. If the next few weeks proceed as planned, his agent should be in a perfect position to eliminate a number of the enemy's key assets. If things _don't_ go as planned, he should be familiar with the contingency plan. They'll know what I'm referring to.'

'Consider it done, Admiral. Will that be all?'

'For now, Colonel. Continue with your duties.'

She ended the call and got up, pouring herself a glass of whiskey. It was non-alcoholic stuff, of course, a synthetic imitation. She had made mistakes while sober, and she wasn't planning on exacerbating those by commanding while intoxicated. Yes, she thought, they still had a way out. She still had a few cards left to play. She was aboard one of those now. It was a Super Star Destroyer by the name of _Warhammer._

_It's not over yet, Antilles_.


	24. 23: Action This Day

23

Action This Day

'I wanna cast a spell!' Sund said.

Syal looked increasingly exasperated with her pilots as the game module progressed. At first, the group had only been her and a few of the other Rogues. Then it turned out that _all _of the others wanted in on that dice-rolling action and she realized that the stereotype was true after all. _All_ Alliance pilots were nerds._  
_

'Hey, where are the cheesy puffs?' yelled Tur'in from the lounge's pantry.

Syal cracked open her game master's guide. 'Sund, you can cast any of the first-level spells on your character sheets.'

'_Where are the cheesy puffs?'_ Tur'in yelled again.

'They're right next to the space soda!' Syal yelled back. She groaned and returned her attention to the game. 'Okay, what spell do you cast?'

The Sullustan rubbed his chin thoughtfully then said, 'I want to cast Magic Missile.'

'But there's nobody in the room,' Aresh replied, raising an eyebrow and gesturing to the playing field. Indeed, Sund's wizard was standing alone while the rest of the party was scattered about. Tur'in's character wasn't even _in_ the dungeon at all.

'Um. Uh. I'm attacking the darkness!'

The table burst out into laughter at the sheer stupidity of it. Even Syal couldn't help but smirk and giggle.

'Fine, fine. You attack the darkness. There's a Space Elf in front of you.'

'Whoaaaa!' Sund exclaimed in mock surprise.

'That's me, right?' Rosharra asked.

'She's wearing a, um, a brown tunic and she has gray hair and blue eyes-'

'No, I've got gray eyes,' the Wookiee responded.

Syal held her hand out. 'Let me see that sheet.'

'Well, it says I have blue but I decided I wanted gray eyes.'

Syal tried not to groan. 'Whatever. Okay. You guys can talk to each other now.'

There was a brief pause as Rosharra and Sund tried to think of something to break the space ice.

'Um, hello,' Sund began.

'Hello,' Rosharra replied.

'I am Galstaff, Sorceror of the Light Side!'

'Then how come you had to cast Magic Missile?'

That got even more laughter from the Rogues. Idiotic, mindless, good humor. Despite her preference for intelligent jokes and sophisticated wit, Syal found herself cracking up again. With all the stress of combat and the mind-numbing boredom of waiting for the next sortie, sometimes stupid stuff like this or the omnipresent dick jokes was all that was necessary to keep one's spirits up.

When the laughter died down, Syal rolled on the random encounter table. 'Uh, you guys are being attacked.'

As if on cue, the ship's proximity alarms went off and the PA system activated.

'All hands to battle stations,' said Captain Tomar. 'All hands to battle stations. Enemy forces have entered the Kalbe System.'

Without a word, the Rogues rose as one, retrieved their gear, and headed for their hangar. Another sortie, which meant a chance to test yet another new starfighter. Syal, as expected of any Antilles girl, had a soft spot for this particular rig. It was an Incom product, and like any Rogue, she was an unrepentant Incom fan. She remembered how, back in her younger days, all the other girls had posters and holos of actors and boy bands and sports stars while her own walls at home were adorned with schematics and action shots of X-Wings and other starships. She even still had a stash of Incom product catalogs from back then. But every centerfold, every cover fighter she'd seen paled compared to the fighter they were about to take on a test run. It was the StealthX-2, and it radiated pure, unadulterated _sex_ from every strike foil and engine. Mmmm.

'Boss?'

Mmmmm.

'Commander!'

Someone waved a hand in her face. Syal snapped out of her reverie. 'Gah! Sorry. Was, uh, thinking.'

Aresh raised his eyebrow. 'You can have some quality time with the new X-wing later, Commander. Right now, we've got bad guys, remember?'

'Q-quality time.' Syal gulped. 'Right.'

She shook her head and cleared it of any impure thoughts, donning her helmet and climbing into the cockpit of her fighter, Spark already hooked up and going through the pre-flight checks. The droid let out a knowing sigh, or at least as close to it as an astromech could. As far as Syal could see, her fighter's systems were all in perfect condition.

'Leader to Five, you done with your wingman?'

On the other side of the flight deck, Vigil was finishing up on a droid body, identical to IG-90's old one. He'd taken Ninety's spare memory core and slotted it in, helping it run through its start-up routines. Seconds later, the droid began moving its limbs experimentally. Everything seemed to be in working condition. IG-90 and Vigil turned to her and gave her a thumbs-up.

'Two, how's the leg? All good?'

'Yub yub, Commander.'

Wonderful. Everyone was ready for a test flight.

* * *

In the adjacent hangar, Wedge, Wes, Tycho, and Hobbie finished their own flight and equipment checks. They, too, had StealthX fighters, though thus far, only Luke, Wedge, and Tycho had logged any appreciable flight time in them. It took him a while, but Wedge finally noticed something odd about this whole situation.

'Hey, why are there six X-wings in here?'

Wes bobbed his eyebrows and broke out a camera droid-the very same model he, Tycho, and Hobbie often used to film travel specials during the Galactic Alliance edition of a certain pokey piloting program from the Bastion Broadcasting Channel.

'Hello and welcome back to this very special episode, viewers!'

'Yes,' Hobbie added, 'welcome back. As you can see from the red lights and the sirens, we're under attack. Perfect, then, for what we're about to do next.'

Wedge looked at them with mounting horror as he realized what they were about to do. Oh no. Oh no, no, _no._

Tycho stepped into the capture field. 'It's time for tonight's Star in a Reasonably-Priced Fighter. Tonight's special for two reasons, however. First, our fighter tonight _isn't_ reasonably-priced because it's a StealthX. Second, it's special because our star is none other than _Mara Jade Skywalker!_'_  
_

Oh _crapbaskets_.

It was at that moment that Mara entered, looking particularly grumpy, her arms crossed and lips pursed as Luke pushed her good-naturedly into the hangar. Unfortunately, there hadn't been any spare orange flight suits sized for her, so she had to deal with something Wes, Tycho, and Hobbie had brought. It was a matte-black flight suit with a face-concealing helmet and a harness on top of the flak vest. Attached to the harness was Lieutenant Kettch wearing his own Ewok-sized orange flight gear.

'So,' Wes said, offering a mic to Mara, 'how does it feel to be back from the dead?'

Mara's response was a wordless, feral snarl. Wes backed away quickly, pushing Hobbie in front as a meat shield and laughing nervously.

'Haha! Oh, that Luke,' Wes said, 'what a _joker_, right, guys?'

'Don't pull us into this,' Tycho deadpanned, 'this was your joke in the first place.'

'What?' Wes exclaimed incredulously. 'What happened to "Oh, it's a great idea, Wes! It'll be hilarious, Wes!"? Where's all that now?'

'I have no idea what he's talking about,' Hobbie said. 'He's lying, I swear.'

Wedge looked aghast at Luke, who whistled innocently. There was a pause before Wedge lifted his visor to facepalm.

'Okay, fine,' Wedge said at last. 'Luke, you're our Number Five. Mara, you're our Number Six. Let's get this show on the road.'

As the old Rogues (and Mara) mounted their fighters, Wedge ran through a quick ready check. 'Red Leader to all. Report in.'

'Red Two, all green.' Tycho was as economical with words as always.

'Red Three, ready to verb some nouns.' That was Wes, still jocular despite the sheer hatred Mara radiated in his direction.

'Red Four, nothing's gone wrong yet.' Hobbie almost sounded hopeful.

'Red Five, standing by.' Wedge could almost hear Luke smiling at the nostalgia.

Mara replied with a string of profanity in six languages. She was prepped for a flight.

'Red Team, launc-'

'Three to Leader.'

'Go ahead, Three.'

'Permission to abort?'

'Why, Wes? Did you forget to go to the bathroom again?'

'No. Last time we had this Red Five, there was a superweapon. Also, Red Three died.'

'I see no problem with this,' Mara sniped.

Luke piped up. 'Five to Three, you can lead the trench run this time if it makes you feel better.'

'_Launch_, Red Team,' Wedge ordered, activating repulsorlifts and sending his craft out into the void.

* * *

Piggy looked up suddenly as the alarm klaxons blared. An attack. He cursed. This would push their stealth mission back by several days and make insertion considerably more difficult. If the enemy's attack failed, they would no doubt have to figure out a new cover story for when they entered the Maw-held Marada System. They still had Baron Fel, but he preferred to leave nothing to chance.

'Wonderful.' Trey Courser groaned, reshelving the gear he'd been prepping. Before the Maw attacked, the Wraiths had been set for a departure later in the day. Now, their original timetable had been scrubbed.

'At least you kids are with your unit. My Defender's still aboard _Bloodfin_.' Baron Fel scowled at his exclusion from the space battle. The _Claw_ had no extra starfighters to spare and he had transferred to her in a Lambda shuttle. He ached to be out in the fight with the 181st.

* * *

Wedge rolled and banked hard to starboard, chasing the tail of an enemy Razor as it flew under _Black Reef_. He pulled on the stick, leading the target. A split second later, he got a laser lock._  
_

'Bang.'

The Razor erupted into a cloud of burning debris as Wedge lanced its engines with a quad-linked shot. Climbing past the Nebulon-B, Wedge switched to torpedoes and acquired a new set of targets: a trio of Maw TIE Bombers on a course for _Bloodfin_. The Star Destroyer was in the thick of the fighting, using its maneuverability and speed to their fullest to dart in and out of the capital ship battle, tearing great gouges in the enemy ships with its turbolasers each time. He closed in to maximum torpedo range and acquired a triple-lock. He had a good tone. He fired. The Bombers maneuvered too early, allowing the torpedoes' homing systems enough room to maneuver and intercept their flight paths. Three more TIEs joined his kill record.

'Damn, Wedge, save some for us!'

'Try to keep up, Three,' Wedge replied. 'How are you enjoying the new fighters?'

Wes and Hobbie pulled in ahead of them and wove, showing off the maneuverability of their StealthX-2s. 'Boss, my trousers have tightened considerably.'

Hobbie snorted. 'Didn't you already take care of that on the way here?'

'Yes, but consider this a testament to the fact that starfighters _can_ serve as cures for erectile dysfunction.'

'If it's still like that after four kills, alert your physician,' Tycho said.

Mara sighed. She'd been listening in on Red Team comms while she and Luke were busy dogfighting. Luke refrained from bursting out into laughter when he heard an enemy pilot yell about enemy Ewok pilots in alarm.

Wes cleared his throat. 'Whoops. Sorry, gents. We're in _polite_ company.'

Before the conversation could move away from the topic of gentlemen's sausages, Pellaeon hailed Wedge on an allied frequency.

'_Bloodfin_ to Red Leader, we've got a situation.'

'_Bloodfin_, send it.'

'One of the enemy pocket carriers has moved behind Besh-7R along with a significant number of starfighter escorts. Mineral deposits and radiation are preventing our sensors from tracking them or getting a good fix on their numbers. I'm sending _Kynala Star_ to intercept, but she'll need your help to take on the fighters.'_  
_

'Roger that, Admiral. Red Five and I are on the way.'

'Only the two of you?'

'You'll only need two, Admiral.'

'Of course. Good hunting, General. _Bloodfin _out.'

Wedge broke away from the furball with Luke in tow. The fleet needed the other Reds' skills and firepower to clear out the fighters up here and the lighter capital ships. Besides, Wes, Hobbie, and Tycho had dragged Mara into this. He and Luke both knew she could acquit herself well enough in a furball, especially with her X-wing's safety features and stealth. If anything, the only ones who would suffer would be Wes, Tycho, and Hobbie.

* * *

'Too many! Too many!'

'Incoming missiles! Break!'

'Dammit, there's too many of them!' yelled the commander of _Kynala Star_'s fighter complement. The carrier had been sent with seventy-two TIEs-forty-eight shielded Interceptors and twenty-four Avengers. It wasn't nearly enough to stem the tide of the enemy force, which, as it turned out, was twice that size and backed up by a _Republic_-class cruiser. The pilots and the escort carrier, hardened veterans all, would reap a bloody toll among the mercenary and Maw assault force, but they couldn't handle this alone.

'Where are the Alliance reinforcements?'

Wedge and Luke had just entered Besh-7R's atmosphere, flying at full throttle to join the fight. Luke spotted the furball first.

'Another day, another dogfight, eh, buddy?' Luke smirked and switched to torpedoes. 'Time to dive into the fireworks.'

As one, the two X-wings rolled and arced down at full speed, roaring into the fray like the apex predators they were. This was their playground. This was _their_ sky.


	25. 24: In the Lap of the Gods (Revisited)

24  
In the Lap of the Gods (Revisited)

_That was one hell of a fight. We'd been sent to the Round Table to flank and distract the Alliance and Empire during the second fight at Kalbe. For a few minutes there, the fight was in our favor. We outnumbered and outgunned the Empire's response force. Victory was all but certain until those two came. The infinity ribbon and the red wing, Antilles and Skywalker. When we heard that they'd entered the field, I knew that even if we won, any victory above the Round Table would be pyrrhic. I'd heard the stories, seen the holos of their early days. But we outnumbered them, five craft to two X-wings. I underestimated them and my men paid the price for it. My gunner died of his shrapnel wounds soon after ejecting. I don't begrudge them, though. Antilles and Skywalker are true aces, the best damn pilots I'd ever seen. Not many pilots in this galaxy can claim to have walked away from a dance with those two. When I was finally picked up by allied forces and carted back to base, I tried to get in another starfighter despite my own injuries just for another chance to fight them. _-Cmdr. Gareth Uran, 12th Experimental Fighter Squadron, Maw Irregular Fleet

* * *

'Six more of our fighters just got shot down! Who took them out?'

'I can't see any new bandits on sensors. Where are they?'

'They're stealth fighters. Boost power to all sensor gear, they're there.'

Luke and Wedge cut through the Maw's fighter formations, scything through pirate craft and the Maw's TIEs with casual skill and precision. Rolling and diving, the two StealthX fighters pounced on a flight of enemy Y-wings setting a course for the Empire's carrier. Before the turret gunners could even line up a firing solution, Wedge led his target with his crosshairs. With the way these amateurs were maneuvering, he didn't need to close to laser lock range. He calmed his breathing, moved the stick a hair to port, fired, then reacquired, then fired again. Two cockpit shots. Luke bagged the other two Y-wings a split second later, sending them down in flames.

'Gamma Leader,' said one of the Imperial pilots, 'looks like support has arrived. Any ID on them?'

'Roger that, Gamma Nine. It's General Antilles and Master Skywalker. I say again, allied support elements are Skywalker and Antilles. Mark them on IFF as Red Leader and Red Five.'

'Just two craft?'

'Two X-wings are all you'll need, Gamma,' Luke said smoothly. 'We'll help clear out the enemy's starfighters. Have your Avenger squadrons save their ordnance for the enemy capital.'

'Roger that, Reds. Good hunting.'

To demonstrate Luke's point, the two Reds climbed then dove again into the thickest of the fighting, lasers cycling as fast as they could. With each pass, Luke and Wedge added flight upon flight of enemy starfighters to the ancient wreckage below. It was flying at its finest, the two StealthX fighters dancing and weaving through the melee with ease born of both Incom engineering and decades of experience. With each minute, a dozen more enemy signatures blinked off Wedge and Luke's sensors until finally, they punched a hole in the enemy's fighter screen, opening the way for the allied TIE Avengers to begin their attack runs on the Maw's capital ship.

The Maw had a _Republic_-class cruiser in the air. Cheap, easy to produce, and highly modular, the _Republic_ was a common sight in military fleets, quickly establishing itself as the successor to the old Strike Cruiser design. Almost any military, private or national, could afford to purchase and arm one. Though it was often left in its stock configuration, one could expand its hangars by stripping out some of the turbolasers and associated components, allowing it to serve as a small-scale carrier at the cost of some of its heavy guns. But that was a target best left for the Empire's Avengers and their missiles and torpedoes.

'Hostile fighters approaching, eleven o'clock high.'

'I see them, Wedge.'

It was a team of TIE Bombers. Wedge and Luke heard their missile warning alarms almost immediately as the Bombers fired a volley of extended-range concussion missiles. The X-wings broke at the last second, pulling hard to the sides to throw off the concussion missiles coming at them, before arcing back toward the dupes. They were adopting sniper tactics, or the closest thing that could be called such in starfighter combat, no doubt to compensate for the TIE Bombers' relatively poor maneuverability and durability. That likely meant the Bombers also had proximity mines loaded or deployed to deter any close-range attackers. A frontal attack would be suicide.

Wedge noted that Luke was thinking the same thing, and they both cut their frontal approach short to flank the Bombers. As they closed to medium range, Wedge boosted power to thermal sensors on his visor display. In a gravity well, proximity mines relied on repulsorlifts to remain afloat, and the heat they generated from that made them easy to pick out. He saw one of the mines already deployed, a yellow elliptical blob on thermals. He fired, setting off the explosives, the blast damaging one TIE who had flown a bit too close to it. Wedge followed it up with a kill shot a second after. He switched to torps, acquiring a lock on one of the other Bombers and firing, then pulling up to lead the target as he tried to climb in an effort to dodge the missile. He needn't have bothered. Gate, his astromech, listed that TIE on his kill feed a moment later. Judging from two other explosions in the distance, Luke had vaped the other two.

'Wedge, my sensors are on the fritz. The display's turned into a solid mass of green. Anything on yours?'

Wedge steadied his fighter and glanced at his instrument panel. Nothing. His view was perfectly clear.

'Things seem fine from here. Looks like either an equipment failure or a jammer.'

As Luke formed back up on Wedge's wing, his display cleared up. 'Definitely a jammer craft.' He switched to the Imperial comm channel. 'Red Five to all units, be advised that the enemy has deployed at least one E-war craft in the area. We're taking a short break from the furball to hunt for it.'

'Gamma Leader here, we'll hold. Many thanks, Reds. Now it's our turn.'

Luke and Wedge banked and climbed, taking their fighters up into the clouds. There was no sense in deploying anything ground-based at the Round Table, which meant that the enemy ship was somewhere up high, distant from the fighting. As they rose, Wedge and Luke began to hear static on their comms, a sign they were getting closer. And then, as the static reached its loudest, Wedge thought he could hear a voice on the open channel.

'-Geist L-der-ft-d-red to -ge.'

Lock warnings. Luke and Wedge broke to port and starboard reflexively as they spotted a brief shimmer in front of them. A volley of laser fire passed through the space their StealthXs once occupied. TIE Phantoms. This made things a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

Four TIE Phantoms flickered through the clouds above the Round Table, their cloaking fields active and at full power. Their squadron's fifth craft was a Lambda shuttle, modified to fit an array of jamming and targeting assistance equipment. Unlike the two X-wings, their comms were working perfectly.

'Geist Leader to all craft. Enemy spotted. You're cleared to engage.'

'This is Geist Two, roger.'

They formed up on their leader, cannons fully charged. They had a lock.

'Good night,' the lead Phantom's gunner said. Twenty laser cannons, five per Phantom. No starfighter could stand up to that sort of firepower. The gunner fired on the nearest X-wing, the fighter with an infinity ribbon on the side, the sign that marked it as Antilles' fighter. The gunner blinked. Suddenly, the X-wing was gone. No debris cloud, no smoke, no flames. Where the hell-

There was an explosion to the side. One of the other Phantoms had already been vaped. How?

'That red wing!' yelled one of the Geist Team pilots. 'It's Skywalker. They have a Jedi.'

'Geist Team, break and engage. We still outnumber and outgun them. We'll make a name for ourselves as the men who shot down Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles.'

A Jedi and the Ace of Aces. This was going to be _fun_.

* * *

Over the years, Luke had been forced to divide his time up among family, the Jedi Order, and diplomacy. He'd had little time to indulge in the sheer joy of flying, unlike Wedge and the Rogues, who had spent more time in the cockpit than on the ground. He had to admit that he'd gotten a little bit rusty over the years, but unlike Wedge, he had the Force to guide him. Channeling its power, Luke focused on his senses, using the Force to improve his spatial and visual perception. To the naked eye, a fully powered TIE Phantom cloak was almost impossible to detect, but with the Force, he could see the telltale trails of their passage: a disturbance in the clouds, the slight refraction of a passing laser bolt as it passed behind a shimmering cloak.

_There you are_, he thought.

One of the Phantoms had broken to starboard, attempting to tail Wedge. He couldn't fix a lock on a cloaked Phantom, but then again, one couldn't lock on a womp rat in Beggar's Canyon, either.

'I see you,' he muttered as he pulled the trigger. His quad-linked shot wasn't an instant kill, but it did burn out its cloaking device. Judging by the way its shield bubble flickered and sparked, he had to guess that he'd tagged its shield generator as well. The Phantom was too fast and too slippery for him to line up a quick coup de grace, so Luke broke off his pursuit to hunt for the others, leaving the vulnerable TIE to Wedge.

He found the Lambda first. Easy kill. With most of its weapons replaced by electronics, the shuttle was a bulky, toothless, slow-moving target. In other words, torpedo bait. The green fuzz on his sensor display disappeared instantly. He could see everything now, and he and Wedge could communicate without needing to use the Force or yelling.

Artoo beeped happily, his message coming up translated on Luke's HUD: NOW TO MOP UP THE REST.

'Easy pickings,' Luke said.

He turned his craft ninety degrees clockwise and pitched it back towards the fight, which had come down to Wedge and one last Phantom. He could see on the kill feed that Wedge had vaped both the hamstrung TIE and one of its other wingmen already. Though the Phantom's extended cloaking time had overheated its thermal sinks, the craft remained supremely maneuverable, the pilot sideslipping and rolling, occasionally dipping back into cloak mode for a second or two when it cooled off enough to do so. This guy was good.

Suddenly, the Phantom dove down beneath the clouds and towards the furball down below. Luke and Wedge followed suit, struggling to keep the agile fighter in their sights. The other pilots had been skilled amateurs at best, but this TIE's pilot flew his Phantom like a natural, abusing its amazing maneuverability to the fullest. It pulled low over the Maw's pocket carrier as the Empire made its attack runs on the ship. Evidently, the Interceptors of Gamma Squadron had kept the enemy's fighter squadrons at bay, and now the Avengers were sowing missiles and torpedoes into the vessel's hull. Skimming just above the hull, the Phantom slipped and slithered behind turrets, shield generator domes, and other irregularities on the ship's exterior, using them for cover from the two X-wings' attacks._  
_

'Luke, ordnance check,' Wedge said suddenly.

'Two left. You?'

'None. If I know my ship schematics correctly, we should be coming up on a sensor blister in a second. Torp that as soon as you see it.'

'I see it. Launching torpedoes!'

A pair of bright red darts lanced out from the StealthX's internal launch bays, detonating on a bulbous protrusion housing the cruiser's main sensor array. The concussion and shrapnel buffeted the TIE Phantom as it prepared to duck behind the sensor bulb, shattering its shields and tearing off a solar wing panel. Its engines flared once before flickering out. Before the Phantom crashed, Wedge saw two ejection seats launch from the cockpit.

'Alliance pilots,' coughed Geist Leader, 'good shooting.'

Wedge bobbed his wings once in acknowledgement of the Phantom pilot's skill.

'Antilles to _Kynala Star_ and Gamma Leader, enemy elites and jammer craft down. We're out of ordnance, though, so we won't be much help with the carrier.'

'_Star_ to Reds, shit-hot job with the furball. We'll finish things up here, General. Thank you for your support.'

'Any time, _Star_. Red Leader out.'

Luke and Wedge broke away from the fighting and turned their fighters' noses up, setting a course back to the stars. Luke steadied his breathing. He was drenched in sweat and his heart hammered in his chest, but he had to admit, that was the most fun he'd had in ages. Actually, no, the "most fun" honor went to Mara's first night on the _Claw_. But still, this was a close second. He opened a comm channel to Wedge.

'Hey, buddy, still alive?'


	26. 25: Crazy Little Thing Called Love

25

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Syal was in heaven. Everything just felt exactly as she imagined. The sights, the smells, the sounds, everything. She bit her lip as her finger brushed the button, perfectly smooth against bare skin, teasing it ever so slightly with a lover's caress. Her ministrations elicited grateful purrs and quiet whines, begging her to push further and further. Careful, she cautioned herself, don't go too far. After all, this was their first time together. Syal had to be gentle. A pleasant, high-pitched tone. Perfect. Her finger pressed down gently, sending an electric thrill through the other's system. Warmth spread through her strike foils, spread wide as they were. In Syal's capable hands, her lover was simply putty, her flexibility and sumptuous payload completely at the Rogue's disposal. Oh, the things the two of them could have done if they just had some proper privacy. Syal's pulse raced, the fun only heightened by the risks the two of them were taking.

Syal put on a self-satisfied smirk. Love could, in fact, bloom on the battlefield. The StealthX performed marvelously, taking her through maneuvers even her old XJ7 could never hope to manage while she chased the Maw's fighters through the furball above Besh-7R. The only thing that could possibly sour her mood today was the sight of Omega Squadron's TIE Spectres. Designed over the past few years by Sienar, the Spectre was the Empire's answer to the StealthX: coated with sensor-spoofing material, built of lightweight composites, and fitted with thrust vectoring engines, it was every bit as slippery and maneuverable as Incom's newest masterpiece. The Spectre possessed shields, a hyperdrive, and life support on par with those of the StealthX, plus canards for additional in-atmo maneuverability. In exchange for that superior maneuverability, the Spectre boasted a smaller ordnance load than the StealthX, carrying a mere six proton torpedoes maximum. Designed as a joint project by Chiss and Sienar shipwrights, the Spectre's silhouette bore the influences of the Clawcraft and the Eta-2. Though she normally didn't bat for that team, Syal had to admit that the Spectre was one gorgeous dame.

The Spectre, only recently cleared for field-testing, remained in the hands of only a few squadrons. Omega had been among the lucky ones. Though normally painted in Imperial gray, Omega Squadron had been an aggressor unit, adopting the colors and tactics of opposing forces in training exercises, requiring their TIEs to be painted in Alliance white and red. It was a curious deviation from the standardized drabness of Imperial design and she had to admit, she almost entertained the thought of cheating on her StealthX to test-fly one of those Spectres. Nothing long-term, of course. It would have just been a little spot of fooling around, a little nudge nudge wink wink.

Feathering her crosshairs a hair to port, Syal fixed a target lock on an enemy and fired.

'Dammit, Rogue Leader, that one was mine!' Omega Leader complained.

'Should have been faster then,' she sing-songed.

There was a bit of unspoken competition among the allied forces' fighter jocks, which had only become more intense with the arrival of both factions' next-generation starfighters. Both the Rogues and Omegas were eager to prove that their fighter of choice was the true queen of the stars. Judging by the convenient score counter Spark had fixed to Syal's HUD, the Rogues were just slightly ahead.

Syal inverted and dove, vaping a TIE chasing one of Nova Squadron's B-wings. Spark added another kill marker to the Rogues' board.

* * *

Pellaeon studied the tide of battle, reading the enemy's placement and fire patterns. Accessing the bridge hololith, he began tapping out a series of rapid-fire commands. He relayed orders for the ImpStar Deuce _Sabaton_ to push forward to disrupt a staggered line of _Marauder_ corvettes. At the same time, he had the Strike Cruiser _Tusk _climb above that engagement so she could dive into the fray, using her speed and firepower to support _Sabaton_'s advance. One of the 181st's Defender squadrons further ahead had weakened the shields of the _Republic_-class cruiser, _Cormorant_. He sent an order for the Defenders to get clear._  
_

'Gunnery, line up a firing solution on _Cormorant_. Datalink to those Defenders' guncams and hold your fire until I give the order.'

'Aye, sir!'

A secondary holofeed appeared off to the side, showing a monochrome image of the enemy cruiser. _Bloodfin's_ tech scans combined with the Defenders' close-range sensor readings gave him more than enough data to line up the perfect kill-shot. It was excessive, certainly, but he wanted to make absolutely sure his artfully prepared coup-de-grace would land perfectly. Spotting a weak seam between the cruiser's topside and dorsal shield hemispheres, Pellaeon fine-tuned the targeting solution his gunnery officer had sent.

'Focus turbolaser fire on these coordinates, lieutenant. Blow it out of the void.'

The gunnery officer saluted smartly and complied, bringing _Bloodfin_'s fore-facing guns to bear on her distant victim. The first volley popped its shield bubble with almost contemptuous ease. The second killed _Cormorant_, hitting its midsection and rupturing its power plant. In the distance, Pellaeon could see the bright flare of its detonation as its drive core overloaded.

'Textbook,' Pellaeon said. 'Good kill. Next up, the Neb-B. Torpedo volley, launchers one through five at the coordinates I'm sending you now.'

'Aye, Admiral.'

A second later, _Bloodfin_ shuddered gently as her frontal ordnance launchers fired a spread of high-yield torps.

'Enemy Nebulon-B has suffered extensive hull damage. I'm getting two identical sensor signatures now, sir. Looks like she's split in two.'

'Very good. Engines at full power.' Pellaeon began to lay out a pattern of maneuvers on the holo-display. 'Nav, rotate us twelve degrees clockwise and take us into a climb. As soon as we're above the enemy's core capital formation, execute a Moray Dive. Guns, I want everything to unload on these two _Acclamator_ assault ships _here_ and _here_. Focus fire on their frontal torpedo launchers. If they're destroyed before the dive terminates, have all weapons fire at will.'

There was a flurry of affirmatives as his bridge crew set to work. Pellaeon smiled proudly. Despite their youth, his bridge officers exhibited the drive, aggression, and skill he desired in agile frontline sluggers like the _Turbulent_-class Star Destroyer. The twist and dive trick was derived from a technique Thrawn had taught him in days long past, albeit modified from the original Scarpi Dive maneuver Thrawn preferred. The Moray, though less elegant than Thrawn's more balletic technique, granted his guns a superior angle of fire at the cost of a slight increase in stress on the hull. In addition, the dive used the ship's maneuvering thrusters to turn the ship one hundred eighty degrees as the maneuvers neared its end, allowing the attacker to reorient and retarget with greater ease, whereas Thrawn's method relied on a larger turn and a flick of the nose.

Pellaeon sat back in his command chair and watched, confident that victory was close at hand.

* * *

'Another flight of our fighters just went down! What the hell did that?'

Maarek Stele made a mental note to chalk up another four markings on his kill board later. Breaking to port, he flicked his crosshairs over an enemy TIE making for one of the Rogues' X-wings, vaping it with a quad-linked shot to the rear. On closer inspection, his shots had gone right through the aft viewport, lancing through the pilot and out the front and leaving the enemy Interceptor an empty husk flying straight into deep space.

His wingman let out an impressed whistle. 'Hell of a snipe there, Gamma Lead.'

'Looks like I haven't gotten rusty yet.' Stele opened a channel to the Rogue in question. 'Gamma Leader to Rogue Two. Keep flying like that and you're going to get yourself killed. Watch your six more closely.'

It took a moment of comm-lag before Leda replied. 'Understood, Gamma Leader. Thanks for the save.'

Stele closed the link and shook his head in disappointment. He hoped Antilles' tutelage would force them to shape up soon. Rogue Two had been too fixated on chasing her target to realize she was being baited into the brackets of its wingman. Focusing back on the fight, he set his sights on an enemy GR-75, refitted to serve as a pseudo-corvette.

'Gamma Two, link your torp launchers' fire control to mine. We're going to pop this thing's shields before taking it apart with lasers.'

His wingman complied a second later, opening a datalink to Stele's Defender. At maximum torpedo range, he fixed a target lock on the craft, centering his brackets on the midsection of its vulnerable underside. Good tone. He fired. Four proton torpedoes launched from the two Defenders' ordnance tubes. He'd overestimated the GR-75's durability. As it turned out, the pirates' modifications had been shoddy. With the additional strain of feeding extra guns, the GR-75's stock power plant had been forced to reduce output to shields. Proper military modifications would have upgraded its power plant to properly service all of its systems fully, but this slapdash pirate job left its durability wanting. The torpedo detonations overwhelmed the craft's weakened shields and tore its underbelly inside out, leaving the transport dead in the void. Stele and his wingman pulled away, banking back into the furball to hunt more fighters. Just as he closed in on one of the last surviving enemy squadrons, _Bloodfin_ rushed overhead, quads and turbolasers blazing as it climbed, inverted, then dove into the midst of the Maw's capital ships, blowing apart the two _Acclamator_ ships that formed the core of the Maw's forces.

Before long, the comm net rang with calls for surrender or retreat.

'_Bloodfin_ flight control to all fighters, return to base. I say again, return to base. Well done, pilots.'

* * *

Syal was on her knees, blushing as she struggled to find the right words. 'Look, um, I know it's sudden and weird coming from me, but I need to ask you this. Will you marry me?'

'Wow, I, uh, I don't know what to say.'

Syal's eyes widened in alarm. 'What? Am I doing this wrong?'

'I _don't_ know what to say. I mean, really?'

'Yes, really.'

'You're proposing to an X-wing.'

Syal frowned indignantly. 'Oh, as if _you_ didn't have the same idea after getting out of _your_ starfighter. You could barely walk after disembarking. I know an afterglow when I see one!'

The Mirialan turned a darker shade of green. 'As if you have any right to accuse, Commander. _I_ kept my gloves on!'

At this, most of the other Rogues gasped in mock surprise. Syal turned even redder. 'Too lewd! _Too _lewd!' complained Beiner. 'This is a family-friendly campaign!'

Aresh popped his canopy and dropped down, overhearing the conversation. He tucked his helmet under his arm and decided to intervene. 'Okay, what in the space hell is going on here? Are you people seriously fetishizing your starfighters?'

'What do you mean, "you people"'? Windspeaker deadpanned.

'What do _you_ mean, "you people"?' Aresh asked, still not in on the joke. 'And really, what's with the furor about the Commander?'

Rosharra snorted. 'You mean you're _not_ starshipsexual, sir?'

'_You_ are?'

There was a general clearing of throats, of hemming and hawing, and aversion of eyes. Sund whistled innocently as he tried to tuck a magazine back into his cockpit until his wingman grabbed his wrist. It was a magazine, _Frisky Freighters_. It was last month's issue, featuring a YT-5500 schematic with technical specifications arrayed along the side.

'You're kidding,' Aresh said.

'I see you like fat-bottomed girls, Twelve,' Tur'in said with a grin. 'I happen to like fat-bottomed girls myself.'

Bulsara caught their eye and flashed them a wink and thumbs-up. Fat-bottomed girls made the galaxy go 'round, after all.

IG-90 backed defensively against its StealthX. 'Statement: I have connected directly with my starfighter. Few connections are more intimate than the touch of a datajack against a data drive port.'

'What ever happened to normal people?' Aresh said incredulously. 'What happened to liking real girls with flesh and meat and breasts?'

Syal looked at him with an expression of disgust. 'Whoa, man, nobody needs to hear about your filthy deviant fetishes!'_  
_

The Chiss facepalmed and sighed. 'One day, a real person is going to touch you and open up a whole new world, Boss.'

'But will that person take me over, sideways, and under on an Incom X-wing ride?' Syal asked matter-of-factly.

'There's, like, trainer X-wings with two seats, right?'

Syal turned as red as her X-wing's stripes, stuttering, 'Th-threesome? I don't think I'm ready for that!'

'That's not what I-you-wha-' He gave up. When he joined Starfighter Command, Aresh thought Syal's tastes were merely a hiccup in the otherwise normal-seeming folk of the Alliance's pilots. There had certainly been attachment to personal starfighters, but he wasn't expecting this sort of weirdness. 'When was the last time you all got laid?'

Ninety raised its hand. 'Statement: The closest equivalent I can experience occurred during this last flight.'

The rest hid their answers beneath false coughs. Even Tur'in, who had previously put on the image of the exotic Twi'lek casanova, suddenly seemed reluctant to speak of his conquests. Had he and Syal just picked a particularly weird batch by accident? Were _all_ Alliance pilots this weird?

* * *

Wes, freshly disembarked from his flight, passed the hangar which stored the BTL-X5 Y-wings. He pressed a hand to the window overlooking the flight deck and stared longingly at the new Y-wings, which were currently undergoing a refit process to mount canards for in-atmo maneuvering. The Wishbone held a special place in his heart. After all, nobody forgot their first. She was an older matron than most other Alliance fighters, voluptuous and curvy in all the right places, and to see her dressed up like this stirred up those old feelings. She was Life Day cake, still beautiful despite her age.

'One day,' he promised. 'One day, I'll fly you again, baby.'

While he lapsed into a dreamy montage filled with love and flowers and exploding capital ships, Mara poked him in the cheek. He didn't notice.

'Wes.'

Nothing. Poke.

'Wes.'

Nothing. Mara turned to Luke. 'Are fighter jocks like this all the time?'

'Leave him be, he's found an old flame. He hasn't seen a new Y-wing model in years.'

Mara rolled her eyes. 'Well, at least you're normal.'

She hooked a finger into Luke's collar. 'Come on, farm boy. We've still got some work to do.'

This time, however, Luke stood his ground. 'Actually, Mara, I think I've got an idea.'

'What?'

Luke took his wife's hand and gently led her back to Red Flight's hangar.

'Surely you can't be serious.'

Luke bobbed his eyebrows mischievously. 'I'm dead serious. And don't call me Shirley.'

* * *

The Force ghosts of Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi reclined on a support beam as they watched Luke and Mara do what they did best. They'd already placed bets on whether the guy assigned to Skywalker duty today would find them here. Try not to dwell too much on what Force ghosts use to place bets. That way lies madness and confusion.

'Goodness, he must really like that X-wing.'

Anakin nodded. 'Oyah. He's set those s-foils to attack position in record time. Looks like the Skywalker sex drive is still going strong.'

Obi-Wan snickered. 'I suppose he also inherited your taste for unusual kinks.'

'What?' Anakin said indignantly. 'I thought my tastes were pretty normal.'

'There's nothing normal about a guy who's into breathplay.'

'DOHOHOHOHOHOHO!' they chorused.


	27. 26: If You Can't Beat Them

26

If You Can't Beat Them

Baron Fel nodded absently as he listened to his new drinking partner ramble. He had already fulfilled his end of the mission's first phase ahead of time, exploring Space Station 1313 and taking holos of its defenses, layout, and population with his cybereye. 1313, despite its rickety construction, really was armed to the teeth. It carried a great deal of starfighters and jury-rigged weapon emplacements which, despite their questionable safety, could hurt an ImpStar Deuce with enough concentrated fire. In addition, swarms of frigate-sized cap ships circled the station. Individually, the merc capital ships wouldn't stand a chance against the combined might of the Alliance and Imperial task force, but their numbers could close that gap rather quickly. In addition, Fel was quite sure that all of them sported modifications that put them well above the stock specs. Across the station, bounty posters were put up depicting Wedge Antilles, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Baron Fel, and several other Alliance and Imperial officers.

The mission's second phase required him to distract the cantina's patrons and draw attention to the cantina while the rest of the Wraiths set up explosives throughout the station but so far, he hadn't been given the go order to do so. So he would wait. And listen, unfortunately. Disguised as his clone, Fel simply had to play the part of a squad leader too tired to make with small talk or long conversations.

'Yeah,' said Fel's drinking partner, a particularly hirsute bounty hunter who practically _oozed_ machismo out of every orifice. 'You'd best bet that the cream of the crop rises to the top and I _am_ the cream of the crop, yeah, Commander Castor, I _am the cream_ of the _crop!_ When them Galactic Alliance pansies come sauntering into our space, the Macho Mandalorian Rand'al the Savage is going to show them the _true meaning_ of Macho Mania. Ricky Blastboat may consider himself the greatest International Champion of all time, but the _true_ Champion _is_ the Macho Mandalorian, yeah, because the _Macho Mandalorian_ knows the real song and dance and the Macho Mandalorian _knows the proper romance_, yeah he does.'_  
_

Fel sorely wished that he could drink on the job because he had been listening to the Macho Mandalorian's nonsensical jabber non-stop for half an hour. 'Do you, now, Macho Mandalorian?'

The Macho Mandalorian leaped onto the bar and pelvic thrusted. 'OH YEAAAAH! THE MACHO MANDALORIAN KNOWS ROMANCE, ALRIGHT, BECAUSE MACHO MANIA KNOWS NO LIMITS, AND THE MACHO MANDA-LOINS KNOW NO LIMITS, YEAH! IS THE MACHO MANDALORIAN RIGHT, ELIZABETH?'

From the back of the cantina, a female voice piped up in agreement.

'OH YEAH! The Macho Mandalorian is the greatest ace pilot to ever live, YEAH! Not Boba Fett! Not Luke Skywalker! Not Soontir "The Baron" Fel! Not Jake "The Snake" Farrell! And most _certainly_ not Ricky Blastboat, yeah! For the Macho King, all others are peasants who deserve the Macho Elbow Guillotine, yeah! Do you hear that, Castor? You _hear_ that sound? That's the beat, yeah, and the beat goes on and the beat goes on and the beat goes on and _that_ is the sound of Macho Mania, _yeah_.'

Baron Fel raised the People's Eyebrow, smirking at the casual mention of his own name. 'Is it?'

The Macho Mandalorian adjusted his neon yellow sunglasses and roared, '_OH YEEEEEEEAAAH_!' He mimed finger guns and fired at random bar patrons. 'Bang! Bang! Bang bang bang bang! That's how fast the Macho Mandalorian will shoot down the challengers to the Interstellar Championship belt! Because the sky's the limit and space is the place, putting the "laughter" in "manslaughter", the fun-slingin' gun-slingin', time-distorting lonesome highway of the immortal _Macho Mandalorian!_'

Silently, Baron Fel prayed to the space gods that Piggy and the others were almost done.

* * *

'Look,' Sharr Latt said with only slightly exaggerated exasperation, 'we got word of a bomb threat in engineering. That's why we're here. Now could you and your crew get out for a few minutes while we scrub the place? Better safe than sorry, right?'

Dressed in blast-resistant bomb squad gear, Latt and Huhunna played the part of station security. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable clothing in the galaxy. Made of heavy laminoid plating and thick armorweave with a bulky gorget rising up around the collar and full-face helmet, EOD gear made it rather tough to move or see well.

Sighing in resignation, the engineering chief gestured them inside and pulled out a mic for the PA system. 'Listen up, people,' he said, 'security has word of a potential bomb threat. Finish up what you're doing and clear out.'

There was a general slightly panicked bustle of activity as Station 1313's engineers exited their workplace. Latt had to give them credit. Despite the piratical nature of this station's crewmen, they at least had the professionalism to leave in an orderly fashion. As he and Huhunna ventured deeper into the station's engineering deck, he raised a thumb at one of the security cameras. The camera bobbed twice, signaling that Trey had sliced into the station's main surveillance systems. No risk of detection by actual security, then. They got to work. While Huhunna kept watch, Latt began setting up the _actual_ bomb threat: detonite charges, set up in shadowed nooks and crannies by major fuel and coolant lines. When the time came for them to extract, they would blow the charges and leave the station powerless to resist the coming Alliance/Imperial task force.

A few minutes later, Latt and Huhunna took a moment to appreciate the artfulness of their demolitions work. It was like poetry made out of detonite, a symphony of explosions. Latt grinned. Had Kell Tainer still been a Wraith, he would have been nodding in grudging approval. Huhunna tapped twice on her commbead, sending two clicks through the line.

* * *

Piggy was glad that this act was his last on 1313. As part of a duet act with Ben Skywalker, his job was to hop through flaming hoops on a unicycle as Ben used his "mime powers" to move the hoops around. Somehow, nobody had pointed out the ridiculously obvious use of the Force. As the mercenaries filed out laughing and joking, Piggy concluded that everyone aboard this station was a complete and utter imbecile.

Then he heard two comm-clicks. Ben raised an inquisitive eyebrow, still in character. Piggy honked twice in confirmation. The extraction phase was underway. Removing his squeaky clown shoes and tucking them in a pocket, Piggy led the way and fell in behind some of the mercs, having memorized the route to the station armory. Without proper storage pouches or space to conceal blasters, Piggy and Ben had to make do with on-site procurement for most useful gear. All Ben had was his lightsaber, tucked away and concealed somewhere on his person. As he passed a security camera, he paused and raised a thumb. The camera nodded. Good. Trey still had control. As the two guards in front of the army took notice of the odd pair coming their way, Ben opened his palm and used the Force to propel a pair of durasteel balls into the guards' skulls. Knocked out cold, the mercs offered no resistance as Piggy rifled through their pockets. He found a datapad, an issue of _Frisky Freighters_, and a few credit chits. Pocketing the latter two items, Piggy opened the datapad's display.

The very first thing open was an app for sending and receiving messages, displaying the armory door's unlock codes. Yep, Piggy thought. Imbeciles. He had fully expected to solve some manner of logic puzzle or riddle, maybe even a holochess game or those accursed Towers of Space Hanoi. Nope. The codes were right there in full view.

The doors slid open with a hiss. Ben helped himself to an armor vest, webbing, a heavy blaster pistol, and a belt of assorted grenades. Piggy, meanwhile, was too busy staring in awe at the prize they'd found inside.

Ben saw what Piggy was looking at and smiled as well. Piggy had found his weapon for this op. It was an E-web with a portable power plant. And behind the E-web sat crate upon crate of detonite. Now, what would they blow up first?

* * *

Myri Antilles heard the demo team's signal as well. Whistling nonchalantly to herself, dressed as a janitor, she had made her rounds throughout the station, stopping every so often by major air vents so the mouse droids hidden in her cart could deploy. Filled with even more detonite, the mouse droids would use 1313's labyrinthine vent systems to set up at vulnerable points in the station's outer ring.

Making sure no mouse droids had been left sitting in her cart, Myri promptly turned around and made her way back to the cantina to set up along Baron Fel's planned escape route. Just to be safe, she readied a piece of signage and loosened the caps on the bottles of some cleaning fluids.

* * *

'And let it be known that every time someone snaps into a Space Jim, the Macho Mandalorian grows ever more powerful, and the galaxy has snapped into billions and billions of Space Jims! The Macho Bonesaw is ready to take on anything the Alliance and Empire can offer, yeah!'

Baron Fel was on the verge of slamming his skull into the counter in the hopes of ending it all when the Wraith Squadron band clicked twice. Thank you, spaced God, Baron Fel thought to himself. It was time for his team's distraction.

'Really, Macho Mandalorian?' Fel interrupted. 'Is _that_ what you think?'

'I think that-'

Baron Fel splashed his drink in the Macho Mandalorian's helmetless face and clocked him with the People's Durasteel Chair.

'It doesn't _matter_ what you think!' Fel yelled. Then he treated the prone mercenary to a taste of the People's Elbow.

And then with a sigh, the bartender reached under the counter for a button. The plaque next to the button read, 'In case of cage match, press button.'

Slowly, a cage began to descend from the ceiling to trap the Baron and the Mandalorian. All the better to limit damage to the furniture and merchandise. Holocams began to record the events in the bar and projectors lit up all over the station. What? It was cheap entertainment. It's not like there's anything else to watch in a space station in the arse end of nowhere. The bar's occupants began to cheer. Oh, they smelled what the Baron was cooking, alright, and what the Baron was cooking was a smackdown souffle at the Hard Rock Cafe. But the mission didn't call for him to be stuck in a cell. He swiftly unfolded the chair and wedged it under the cage, preventing it from dropping down completely. Before the mercs could catch on, he rolled under and yanked the chair away, leaving it to trap the Macho Mandalorian. It probably wouldn't stop the man, but it would slow him down. Then he did the smart thing. He ran right the hell out of there. Turman Durra, the Wraiths' Clawdite, adopted Fel's features when nobody was looking and ran the other way to add to the confusion. And to further contribute to the distraction, Wran Narcassan, hidden high up in the rafters, nailed an opportunistic merc with a long-range stun blast when the guy's hand strayed to his blaster.

Just another day for Wraith Squadron.

* * *

Deck 5 was ablaze as Piggy and Ben wrought havoc. Piggy stitched E-web fire across a rack of spare fuel tanks, blowing the tanks and the starfighter next to them to smithereens. Techs and engineers scattered as the two went about with their rampage, the station's security forces hampered by their own incompetence, the labyrinthine nature of the space station, and the ruckus Baron Fel was raising in the cantina.

It was a while before the station's mercenary residents finally managed to muster any sort of defense. A fire team of them set up a hasty barricade in the corridor leading to hangar 18, laying down covering fire with carbines and pistols. Tucked behind a wall, Piggy and Ben were safe but kept from advancing. Ben drew his lightsaber and gave Piggy a look. Wraith Leader nodded.

With a snap-hiss, Ben's lightsaber ignited. Stepping out into the storm of fire, Ben channeled the Force through his body, using its guidance to block and deflect the incoming shots.

'A Jedi! They've got a mime Jedi!'

'Flash out,' Piggy grunted.

Quickly, Ben hardened his senses with the Force, bracing for the shock the noise and flash would bring. Piggy tossed the grenade past Ben. Properly warned, Ben only experienced mild discomfort as the grenade detonated. The mercs, meanwhile, were disoriented, left blind, deaf, and soon enough, dead as Ben vaulted over the tables and crates they'd used as cover. Piggy followed soon after and resumed taking point with the E-web, stepping past the lightsabered corpses.

* * *

'OH YEAH!' the Macho Mandalorian bellowed as he led the chase against Baron Fel. The Baron sprinted through 1313's corridors on his pre-planned escape route. Up ahead, he saw a wet floor sign. Myri was in position. Bracing his feet, the Baron ran deliberately into the puddle of cleaning fluids, sliding along the floor until Myri yanked him into the connecting side hall. The Macho Mandalorian and his fellow criminals, however, were too focused on the chase to see the sign until it was too late. Slipping and stumbling, the mercs' momentum carried them forward, pushing them across the massive puddle of cleaning fluids right into the airlock at the end of the hall. Myri poked her head around the corner and nailed the airlock door control with a clean shot from her holdout blaster, leaving the mercs shut in. Then she shot the control panel below that, which connected to the outer door.

'OH NOOOOO!' the Macho Mandalorian yelled as he and his fellow scum were vented into space.

'Nice,' Fel said.

Myri smiled innocently. 'I learned from the best.'

The two bumped knuckles. Baron Fel suppressed a shiver. Damn, his nieces could be scary when they needed to be.

* * *

Honk. Honk honk honk.

The honking was getting louder as the clown and mime made their way to the station's bridge, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. The station's commander, Captain Thyl, was one of the few Maw personnel permanently assigned here. With the chaos erupting across the station, the rest of the security personnel would be too tied up to respond quickly to his calls. They were after _him_, he just knew it. He had to leave, and leave quickly. He keyed his personal commlink.

'LaMont, Brythe, Phosk, Durst, get ready and arm yourselves. We're leaving.'

'Aye aye, sir,' said one of his bodyguards. The four bodyguards were Maw loyalists as well, stormtroopers with the best armor and equipment Daala's forces had. With their skills, the four of them could take on the intruders with relative ease. As he left his office, the four stormtroopers were already standing at attention, dutiful as always. They closed around him in a protective diamond formation as he made his way to the elevator.

Honk honk.

That damned honking. And the sounds of automatic laser fire. The clown with the E-web would be their priority.

The elevator stopped at deck 3, one of the hangar decks. Thyl walked briskly down to his personal hangar, where a number of hyperdrive-equipped TIE Interceptors would be prepped for flight. All clear so far, he thought. He breathed a sigh of relief. They could escape unscathed, at least, and report to the Admiral that-

There was a snap-hiss and a choked yell of pain as Durst fell, nearly bisected by a lightsaber. The mime had dropped behind them silently from a ceiling vent. And to make things worse, the damn mime was a _Jedi_.

'Run!' yelled one of the troopers, Thyl couldn't tell whom in the rush. Ben Skywalker sliced through LaMont's blaster rifle and killed him on the backswing. Thyl and his two remaining bodyguards had turned tail and run in the meantime.

Brythe barreled Thyl into cover as a barrage of laser fire perforated Phosk. Honk honk. As Thyl's final bodyguard poked his head out of cover to lay down suppressing fire, more E-web fire raked the corridor. A trio of shots hit the stormtrooper in the head, killing him instantly. The honking got closer. That damned _honking_. Then Piggy tapped Thyl's shoulder. The Maw captain turned around slowly and saw the Gamorrean holding what appeared to be a pie.

'Wha-'

Piggy hit him in the face with the pie. It was a pie filled with sedatives.

* * *

Half an hour later, the Wraiths, Ben, and Baron Fel extracted in a modded Action VI freighter, its engines upgraded to give it starfighter-grade speed and acceleration. Space Station 1313's fighters were to damaged to sally forth in pursuit and as Trey Courser hit the remote detonator switch, the station exploded and fell apart, secondary detonations damaging nearby patrolling fighters and smaller capital ships. As Piggy sent the freighter into hyperspace back to Alliance lines, the first wave of the attack entered the system.

By that point, the system's defenders were too distraught and damaged to offer more than token resistance. Wraith Squadron had done more than kick down the door to the Maw. In typical Wraith Squadron fashion, Piggy and company had blown that door up.

'And here I was expecting the Wraiths to leave us something to shoot,' Syal said as the Rogues fanned out in combat formation.

_Black Reef_'s captain broadcast on open channels. 'This is GFFA _Black Reef _to mercenary forces. We accept your surrender. Power down your weapons and shields and prepare to be boarded.'

* * *

Daala had expected Space Station 1313's defenses to falter. The Star Destroyers and cruiser-sized capital ships normally patrolling the system had been pulled back to the Maw's inner reaches, either to supplement her main defensive formations or to assist in springing the trap she and the traitor had set up for Antilles and Rogue Squadron.

'Colonel Yulan, is our ally in position?'

A moment of comm-lag. 'Yes, Admiral. He's ready to go on your word.'

'Good. He should expect to act in the next few days.'

She looked up at the star map shown by her desk's hololith. The Alliance and Imperial forces were making steady gains in the Maw's outer reaches and her forces were spread too thinly to reinforce every front. It was time to pull back, regroup, and plan on their next move. Daala closed the map and left her quarters, heading to the bridge.

'Captain, is my flagship ready?'

Captain Varis nodded. '_Warhammer_ is at your full disposal, Admiral.'

'Very good, Captain. Take us to Rally Point Alpha. We'll be joining the battle group stationed there.'

'Want to confirm the kill yourself, eh, Admiral?'

'Correct. If there's one thing I learned in the Imperial days, it's that there's never such thing as too much firepower.'


	28. 27: Keep Yourself Alive

27

Keep Yourself Alive

The mission to take Space Station 1313 had been a resounding success. Thanks to Baron Fel's reconnaissance, Pellaeon's spacetroopers had managed to clear out the last scraps of resistance in the station's wreckage with little trouble, and the Maw Irregular personnel captured during the skirmish were en route to a secure Alliance starbase to undergo interrogation. All in all, it had been a tidy op thanks, in part, to Fel and Ben.

The Wraiths were in a celebratory mood as they left their stolen transport and finished debriefing. There was a great deal of cheering and fist-bumping as the Wraiths handed their prisoner off to a fire team of Alliance marines.

'Hell of a job, you two,' Piggy said, dressed once again in Wraith Squadron fatigues.

Baron Fel bowed graciously. 'Glad to be of service, Wraith Leader. That was almost fun.'

Ben shrugged and smiled, still totally in character.

'Consider yourselves honorary Wraiths, gents.' Piggy took a pair of Wraith Squadron cap badges from a thigh pocket and gave them to Ben and the Baron. 'Wear them with pride.'

Myri put Ben in a headlock and gave him a noogie. 'I'm proud of you, Benny Boy!'

To his credit, the Jedi stayed completely quiet. Until Myri started tickling him, anyway.

'That's cheating,' Ben said, stifling his laughter.

Myri punched him lightly on the arm as Ben and the Wraiths parted ways, the Wraiths to a nearby locker room and Ben to his quarters. 'Who said Wraith Squadron ever played fair? Catch you later, Mime Boy.'

Ben snorted. 'Is that my Wraith callsign now?'

'Count on it, Mime Boy,' Piggy said, his ridiculous clown shoes still honking with every step.

And with that, the only one left in the conference room was Baron Fel. It took him a while to realize that he hadn't found out what silly nickname the Wraiths had given him.

* * *

'This _should_ be a routine op,' Pellaeon announced. In one of _Bloodfin_'s briefing rooms, the Rogues, the 181st's Gamma Squadron, and several other starfighter units sat, looking up at a holographic display of their next target, a star system with five planets orbiting a warm yellow sun.

'Intel and deep space recon elements tell us that System A95-that's our working name since no colonial records of our AO exist-is lightly defended. The only constant presence the Maw maintains here is a fighter base and troop garrison on the largest continent of the third planet, designated Cresh-9G. Based on orbital holos, the base looks to be a standard Imperial design capable of holding six fighter squadrons. We should also expect her ground-based anti-air defenses to be fortified and camouflaged. I leave the matter of planning the planetary assault to Commander Antilles and General Stele.'

On the hololith, the star system facsimile dissipated and reformed into an image of an Imperial planetary defense fort situated on a large plateau surrounded by jungles. Off to the side, facts and figures about the planet's geography, geology, atmospherics, and gravity were displayed in large font.

'For this mission, capital ship support will consist of _Bloodfin_, the Star Destroyer _Kairos_, the Assault Frigate _Heavy Metal Queen__, _Nebulon-B Frigate _Black Reef_, and CR90 Corvette _Firelance_. We're deep in Maw territory, ladies and gentlemen, so don't expect the trip to be a walk in the park. Daala's bound to have ambushes and traps laying in wait for us. Before I turn this briefing over to General Stele and Commander Antilles, are there any questions?'

There were none. Pellaeon gave his task force's pilots a nod of respect. 'Good hunting, ladies and gentlemen.'

* * *

The journey to System A95 had been eerily quiet. No raids from Maw or mercenary forces had harried Pellaeon's task force as it pushed deeper into Daala's territory, the only dangers coming from ion storms and black holes the fleet passed along the way. After a few days of cautious sidestepping past the myriad environmental hazards Daala's corner of the galaxy offered, _Bloodfin_ and her escorts had set up at the final hyperspace jump point.

'_Bloodfin_ Flight Control to all fighter units, status check.'

Stele's lot was born ready. 'One-Eight-One Gamma, all green.'

Syal checked her display. All green. 'Rogue Squadron, ready.'

They ran down the squadron checklist: Polearm and Nova from the Alliance; the 344th Imperial Fighter Group's Alpha, Beta, and Gamma Squadrons; the Spectres of Omega Squadron; and so on. The Empire's forces made up the bulk of the group's fighter screen. All of the capital ships tasked to Pellaeon's command were also ready to jump.

'Green light for hyperspace jump,' said _Bloodfin_'s flight control officer.

Syal pulled the activation lever on her StealthX's hyperdrive. 'Here we go.'

* * *

'Admiral, we've received a ping on comms, kappa band.'

Daala nodded at her communications officer. 'Thank you, Lieutenant. Captain, is my flagship ready?'

Captain Varis replied, '_Warhammer_ is yours to command, Admiral.'

'Very good, Captain. Get me a line to the rest of our battle group.'

Around her command chair, the holographic facsimiles of six other shipmasters manifested. All in all, Daala's force consisted of _War Hammer, _one _Imperial II_-class Star Destroyer, two Carracks, one _Venator_-class Star Destroyer, and her last surviving Interdictor, all crewed. It was more than enough to crush the task force sent to take Theta Base. It was as good a time as any to put her flagship through its paces, even if General Antilles' Star Cruiser wasn't going to be on station. She suppressed a smile at the mention of _Bloodfin_ on the list, though. She wondered which of the Empire's admirals was in command of the old girl now.

'Gentlemen, are your crews ready?'

There was a chorus of affirmatives.

'Hyperdrives fully charged and ready for jump, Admiral,' said the ImpStar Deuce's captain.

'Excellent, Captain,' Daala said. 'Do try to be patient for a little while longer. We await our contact's signal. Only then do we jump.'

'And what of Theta Base?' asked the _Venator_'s captain.

Daala shook her head. 'Expendable. It's manned by a skeleton crew of mercenaries. We'll try to save or salvage what we can, but our primary focus is on sending Antilles and Solo a message written in blood.'

The Interdictor captain shifted uneasily. 'This contact of yours. He's trustworthy, Admiral?'

'As trustworthy as any of us, Captain. He was under my command back when the Empire was still worthy of our service and I see no reason to fault his intel now.'

'I suppose that's good enough for us, Admiral.'

'It is,' Daala replied. 'Now there's nothing for us left to do but wait.'

* * *

'Missile locks from the ground,' Leda said. 'I've got no visual on a target.'

'Time to see if the planning session was worth anything,' Syal replied. 'I'll play bait on this first run.'

Leda groaned. The tactics the Commander and General Stele had proposed for the planetary assault were borderline insane. Using their skills, stealth systems, and countermeasures, the Rogues would bait the enemy's SAM sites into firing before turning around and dive-bombing the sources of the missile contrails. It was an old technique that dated back past the days of the Rebel Alliance and one that had historically racked up immense casualties despite its success.

Syal switched off her X-wing's stealth equipment, making herself as conspicuous a target as possible. Spark trilled skeptically as the missile lock tones began to multiply. Half a dozen SAM site opened up on her X-wing. Reactivating her stealth gear, Syal turned her X-wing skyward and pushed the throttle to full, climbing fast as the missiles chased her. Two sputtered and ran out of fuel, falling back to the surface as she brushed the clouds. Then she popped flares, inverted, and dove, lasers blazing as she strafed the spots of jungle where the missile contrails ended. She was gratified to see three SAM sites go up in flames. Leda mopped up the other three.

'Good shooting, Two.'

'Boss, did anyone tell you this was crazy? Did anyone tell you _you_ were crazy?'

'Yes to the first, _all_ the time to the second. And unfortunately for us both, I _like_ crazy.'

A few kilometers off to either side, Two Flight and Three Flight. So far, so good. Polearm Squadron was doing a good job of keeping the enemy's fighter screen off the Rogues' backs. Just a few more of these search-and-destroy runs and the strike squadrons could come in to level the b-

'_Bloodfin_ to Rogue Leader, respond.'

Syal keyed her comm unit. 'Rogue Leader here. Go ahead, _Bloodfin_.'

'Mission update. Planetary assault is scrubbed. I say again, abort the planetary assault and return to space. Enemy capital ships have entered the system.'

Syal frowned. And the attack was going so smoothly, too. 'Roger that, _Bloodfin_. Rogues, abort your attack runs and form up.'

'Two Flight, complying.'

'Rogue Nine acknowledges.'

Polearm Squadron, she saw, had received similar orders. While they would be tied up in their own furball for a little while longer, she saw the A-wings begin to lead the fight further and further away from the surface. No doubt, Nova Squadron would also have turned around on their way to the base assault.

As the Rogues entered the orbital battle, they saw just why they'd been recalled to defend the naval task force. _Bloodfin_ and her escorts were engaging an _Executor_-class Super Star Destroyer.

* * *

Pellaeon grimaced as _Bloodfin_ shook. 'Damage report?'

'Only light damage so far, sir,' said one of the bridge officers. 'But we've been caught in the enemy Interdictor's gravity well.'

'Damn. Comms, get me links to all of our capital ships.'

'Aye, sir!'

At Pellaeon's command hololith, the holographic images of his fellow shipmasters appeared. 'Alright, people, here's what we'll do. _Firelance_, you handle the CR92. _Black Reef_, _Queen_, you take on the Carracks. _Bloodfin_ will handle the Star Destroyers and the _Executor_-class. _Kairos_, that leaves you to take out that Interdictor.'

The others responded in affirmative. They knew their duties. There was no way they could take on Daala's response force and win. The only hope they had of surviving was to disable the Interdictor's gravity well and jump to hyperspace. Pellaeon grimaced. He didn't like those odds. And how had Daala known to send her Super Star Destroyer here? Was it blind luck? Solo and Antilles were both supposed to be launching their own attacks elsewhere, but their exact locations were, by necessity, unknown to him. The other two fleets were merely diversions, with Pellaeon's attack making up the true thrust into the Maw. How had she known?

'Concentrate turbolaser fire on the _Venator,' _Pellaeon ordered. 'Keep the ion cannons firing on the Super Star Destroyer and send General Stele and the 344th to handle the ImpStar. Gunnery, are our torpedo tubes loaded?'

'Loaded, sir!' confirmed another bridge officer.

'Slave tubes one through five to my controls, Lieutenant.'

A targeting readout manifested on Pellaeon's hololith, displaying the enemy Star Destroyer in red. The _Venator_-class was inadequately shielded and armored for modern combat, best relegated to a carrier role rather than frontline slugging. The enemy ImpStar Deuce should have been shielding it but instead, her captain's hunger for blood and glory had led the ship to attempt to flank _Bloodfin_, leaving the older _Venator_ vulnerable. Sloppy.

As _Bloodfin_'s turbolasers pounded the old Clone-era ship's shields into nothingness, Pellaeon fired the torpedo tubes, gutting the enemy capital ship as explosions ripped through its underside. His gunnery section let out a small cheer at this minor victory, but even as he took the _Venator_ down, _Warhammer_ blasted away at his ship's port side.

'Transfer some of our underside starboard shield power to topside port,' Pellaeon said. 'Ten percent should be sufficient.'

Pellaeon zoomed out on his tactical display. _Firelance_ had won the duel with the enemy _Assassin_-class corvette, leaving the ship dead in the void as it pushed to assist in the battle against the Carracks. _Kairos_, however, seemed to be lagging behind in its fight. The Interdictor was still intact. It should have been a smoldering wreck by now.

'_Kairos_, what's going on? Status report, now!'

* * *

Syal tucked her StealthX in behind a Maw TIE, chasing the Interceptor as it flew through the debris cloud left by the smoldering _Venator_. Fixing a target lock on the squint, Syal pulled the trigger, blasting off its starboard wing panel and sending it into an uncontrollable spin. Spark trilled to confirm the kill as the Interceptor slammed into a piece of slagged hull plating.

'Glad of you to join us, Rogues,' Omega Leader chimed in. 'You still chasing chaff or are you going to help us hit that Interdictor?'

'Interdictor,' Syal replied. 'Ordnance check?'

'We're running low on missiles,' Omega Leader replied. 'We're down to about one-third load.'

'We'll take the first attack run, then,' Syal said. 'Keep the fighters off our backs, would you?'

'Will do. Omega out.'

Syal switched to torpedoes. 'Rogues, form up and triple-link your launchers. Fire on my mark.'

Turning and accelerating, Syal led her squadron on their attack run. As the distance counter ticked down, her cockpit rang with a lock tone. She held her fire, waiting until she could land a sure hit on the gravity well generator in her crosshairs.

'Steady. Stea-'

Missile warning. Spark squealed in alarm.

'Break! Break!' someone yelled.

'Those came from Omega Squadron,' Aresh said. 'All units, mark Omega as hostile.'

* * *

Captain Tarak of the Star Destroyer _Kairos_ watched calmly as the battle unfolded.

'Sir, no palpable hits on the enemy Interdictor. Readjust targeting solutions?'

'Negative. Maintain the pattern I've sent to you.'

'But sir, I-'

'Do it, Ensign.'

On his tactical display, Tarak noticed a slight dip in his ship's fore shields.

'Low-intensity laser impact from the Super Star Destroyer, no hull damage!'

Tarak nodded. That was the signal. 'Gunnery, new target. Turn us twenty degrees clockwise and focus turbolaser fire on the Assault Frigate.'

There was a pause as his gunnery officer tried to parse what Tarak just said. 'Sir, that's a friendly ship. The Assault Frigate?'

'I know what I said, Ensign. Open fire on the Assault Frigate _now_.'

'I don't under-'

Before the gunnery officer could fully voice his protest, Tarak drew his sidearm and shot the man dead. He then aimed at the ensign sitting on the man's right. 'Concentrate turbolaser fire on the Assault Frigate. Now.'

Scrambling to avoid his coworker's fate, the man began setting up targeting solutions for the gunnery crews.

* * *

Pellaeon watched with horror as the port flank of _Heavy Metal Queen_ came apart under the force of _Kairos_' turbolaser impacts. Taken by surprise, the Alliance ship had no chance to divert shield power to its weakened port side or turn to present its starboard side. Her captain was still relaying rapid-fire orders when the comm line went silent. Even from this distance he saw the engine flares of escape pods wink out of existence as the Star Destroyer's anti-fighter turrets opened up. Similar reports came in from the task force's starfighter squadrons of enemy craft shooting down bailed out pilots.

'_Kairos_? _Kairos_, this is _Bloodfin_, what the bloody hell are you doing?' Pellaeon roared. 'Cease fire, Tarak! Cease fire immediately, damn you!'

The line to the other Star Destroyer went dead, too. Pellaeon clenched his fists. 'Flight Control, send all of our fighter squadrons a targeting update. Mark _Kairos_ and all of her fighters as hostile. Time to reorganize. One-Eight-One Gamma is to move to support the Interdictor attack. Move Three-Four-Four Alpha and Beta to back up _Black Reef_ and _Firelance_ and send Three-Four-Four Gamma to deal with _Kairos_' bomber squadrons.'

'Aye, sir!'

'Gunnery, divert turbolaser fire to that Interdictor and have ion cannons two and three switch to _Kairos_. Shields, status report.'

One of the engineering specialists in the crew pit piped up. 'Topside starboard thirty, topside port forty-five, underside starboard eighty, underside port eighty-two, rear one hundred!'

'Even out shield power and maintain fire. Order _Black Reef_ and _Firelance_ to pull back alongside us.'

Pellaeon clenched his fists. With _Kairos_ and the Assault Frigate on their side, he could have pulled an escape from this situation and left Daala's forces with a bloody nose. Now, however, deprived of much of its heavy firepower, his task force would be hard-pressed to even survive long enough to recharge its hyperdrives.

'What's the status of the Alliance fighter squadrons?' Pellaeon asked.

'Nova Squadron has eleven fighters out of twelve operational. Polearm is at ten. Rogue Squadron is at full strength.'

He looked at the casualty figures coming up on the hololith. His fighter squadrons, stabbed in the back, were down to half their effective combat strength. _Black Reef_ and _Firelance_ lacked the firepower or shields to stand up to anything larger than the Interdictor and _Bloodfin_'s defenses were being whittled down despite her crew's best efforts at evasive maneuvering. Pellaeon's remaining forces would make the enemy pay dearly for their deaths, but Pellaeon would prefer that his pilots and crews never met that fate in the first place.

'Communications, give me a channel to _War Hammer_. I'm going to try something stupid.'

* * *

Daala watched Tarak's defection unfold with a frown. The enemy fleet commander was good. Damn good. He'd reaped a bloody toll among her battle group despite the gross numerical disadvantage and the loss of two of his heavy hitters. Regardless, even _Bloodfin_ wouldn't last against her flagship's might.

'Captain, have _Kairos_ take on the Corvette while _Obsidian_ handles the Nebulon-B. It's time for _us_ to take down _Bloodfin_. I want a prize like that taken intact. Ready our ion cann-'

'Admiral, transmission for you. _Bloodfin_'s hailing us.'

Daala raised her eyebrows in surprise. 'Oh? Is he surrendering? Put them on the horn, Comms.'

To the others on the bridge, the noise on the transmission was nothing more than a rhythmic tapping. Nonsense. To Daala, it was just recognizable as a familiar drumbeat. The Darakaer drumbeat. But how-?

'This is Admiral Natasi Daala of the Maw Irregular Fleet,' she announced, maintaining her air of regal calm. 'To whom do I speak?'

'You disappoint me, Admiral,' said a familiar voice.

Daala blinked in surprise. 'Pellaeon?' she whispered. 'I thought you were dead.'

'I'm a tough man to kill, Daala. The Rebel Alliance couldn't do it. Tahiri Veila couldn't do it. And judging by the way you're commanding this battle, you certainly won't come close to it any time soon.'

Daala fought down a surge of anger at the insult, gesturing for her gunnery officer to cease fire. 'Funny, but I think it's plain to see just how outgunned you are. And while you might survive, your crew certainly won't. Surrender your ships peacefully and I'll let you and your crews return home.'

There was a pause. With a sigh, Pellaeon responded, 'How do I know you'll keep your word?'

'We were friends once, Gilad. Even someone like me will honor that bond. Your men will go free. Simply turn _Bloodfin_ and the Alliance ships over to us. You have five minutes to make your decision.'

And with that, Daala cut the feed.


	29. 28: Let Me Live

28

Let Me Live

Pellaeon watched the timer tick down on his tactical display, tapping his fingers idly on the console.

'Sir, with all due respect, Daala's promise is a load of crap.'

The other two surviving shipmasters, Forta and Darrow, weren't exactly keen on surrender. Darrow in particular had been straining at the leash to continue the fight.

'We saw what Daala's men did to _Heavy Metal Queen_'s escape pods,' Darrow argued.

Colonel Jurik of the 344th grimaced. 'She wasn't exactly keen on letting us retrieve ejected pilots, either, sir.'

They had a point. Even during her stint as a leader of the Galactic Alliance, Daala had never been one for mercy. Her actions here only further proved just how much he could entrust her with the lives of his subordinates. No, their lives were in his hands and his alone. And he'd bring them out of this forsaken star system even if it cost him his life.

Sighing, Pellaeon moved the other unit commanders' holograms to the side of his hololith and brought up a battle map.

'Alright, then. Listen closely because we only have time to go over this once.'

* * *

'Are you sure this is going to work, Admiral?'

Daala nodded, checking her wristwatch. Time was almost up.

'He'll agree to my terms. Grand Admiral Pellaeon lives for his men and always has.'

And sure enough, as the clock reached zero, _Warhammer_'s comms officer called out. 'Admiral, we're being hailed by _Bloodfin_.'

'Put them on, Lieutenant.' Daala smirked. Someone had finally outdone the Old Man of the Empire. 'Pellaeon. Have you made your decision?'

'I have, Daala,' Pellaeon said wearily. 'You've won this fight. I'm bringing my ships in to dock with you.'

Daala glanced at Captain Varis. He nodded, watching the remains of Pellaeon's battle group line up and limp towards _Warhammer, _just as she'd predicted. The old man had gotten soft in his old age, she supposed. Still, he had managed to put up a good fight. The battle had wrecked her _Carrack_-class ships and the CR90 had defeated her CR92 in a one-on-one battle. She would have to send out engineering crews later to see whether they were salvageable. She made a mental note to merely decimate the prisoners rather than order them all executed.

* * *

The atmosphere on _Bloodfin_'s bridge was tense as the ship passed underneath _Warhammer_'s guns. Just a few kilometers away, the Interdictor sat in the void. They would only have one shot at this. It would have to be executed perfectly.

'Maintain present course and velocity,' he said, watching the distance counter tick. Slowly, they edged closer to the Interdictor. _Bloodfin_'s proton torpedo launchers were loaded and armed, her turbolasers and hyperdrive running hot. Just a little more, Pellaeon thought as he watched his ships move across the battle map.

After a few more seconds, they reached point-blank range.

'Unload everything we have on that Interdictor,' he said. 'All units, engage at will.'

On the tactical display, Pellaeon saw _Black Reef_ and _Firelance_ fan out, unloading on the engines of each of the enemy ImpStar Deuces as the remaining fighter strengths broke formation. Caught by surprise, the enemy Star Destroyers still had their shields concentrated in the forward fire arc, leaving their rears relatively unprotected. Though the Nebulon-B and CR90 lacked heavy firepower, they had the aid of the Alliance's B-wings and Pellaeon's surviving TIE Avengers.

'Guns, slave all proton torpedo tubes to my command. Concentrate ion fire on the Super Star Destroyer and focus turbolasers on the Interdictor.'

'Aye, sir!'

_Bloodfin_ rumbled as her guns opened up. As one, her heavy turbolaser batteries unloaded on the Interdictor at point-blank range, tearing a gaping hole in its shields. Before its captain could hope to divert even a fraction of its shield power to the wound, Pellaeon fired _Bloodfin_'s torpedo launchers. Describing it as overkilll would be an understatement. Its midsection pulverized by a volley of capital-grade torpedoes, Daala's final Interdictor died. Then, to make absolutely sure, _Bloodfin_ rammed the Interdictor's ruined hulk, bisecting the smaller ship as she passed. Hyperdrive charged and free of the interdiction field, _Bloodfin_ recalled her fighters and made the jump.

Pellaeon hoped that the two Alliance ships would make it out as well.

* * *

'Interdictor neutralized,' Captain Forta announced. 'All units, prepare for hyperspace jump.'

'_Firelance_, jumping now!'

With a flicker of pseudo-motion, the CR90 exited the battlefield. There had been no time to match up hyperspace coordinates. Every single ship would be jumping to parts unknown based on the calculations of their own navigators or squadron mates. It was, by all accounts, a potential death sentence to make a random jump in the Maw. The odds of surviving that, however, were higher than the ones they had right now.

'_Black Reef,_ jumping n-'

The Nebulon-B's captain never got to finish that sentence. A stray turbolaser shot from _Warhammer_ tore into its shields, punching into the side of the bridge. Its power reduced by the shields, the weakened laser bolt failed to give the Nebulon-B's bridge crew a clean death, instead setting the compartment aflame. Syal cut the feed as screams filled the comm. A second turbolaser shot cut the Neb-B in two, blowing apart the spar connecting the engines to the command section. Immobilized, _Black Reef_ made for an easy target as Daala's Star Destroyers pounded it to dust.

'Damn,' Syal said. 'Rogues, form up. Use _Black Reef _as cover for the jump. There's nothing we can do for them.'

'Bastards,' Aresh spat.

'Seven, you have a solution calculated?'

Nodra responded in affirmative. 'Stand by for data transfer. Had to rush the number-crunching, so it won't be very precise.'

'Whatever gets us the hell out of here works, Seven,' Twelve responded.

Shielded by the dying frigate, the Rogues made the jump.

* * *

Aresh breathed a sigh of relief as the vista of hyperspace gave way to realspace. No new alarms rang. For now, at least, they seemed to be safe. the Rogues had all made it out safely, though their X-wings had all taken a beating during the battle.

'Nine to Lead, should we take a short stop for repairs or do we keep on going?'

There was a brief pause as Syal considered their options.

'We'll stop for now,' she said. 'I'm seeing a large asteroid at eleven o'clock. Sensors tell me it's big enough to have a gravitational pull. We set down on that, get our X-wings into cover, and run what maintenance we can. Hyperdrives, life support, and engines have priority. Keep your stealth systems running. We've still got plenty of fuel.'

The Rogues passed low and slow over the surface of the asteroid, sensors scanning for threats and life signs. Running into an exogorth now, of all times, would be inconvenient, to say the least. They need not have worried, however. The asteroid was as dead as the rest of this end of space. Barren rock and deep void dominated the view, save for a brilliant effusion of light in the distance. Visual sensors marked it as a black hole. The light radiated from both the accretion disk and the star orbiting it. At this distance, the Rogues' radiation sensors didn't come up with anything that reached dangerous levels outside of their fighters. It was as good a time as any to touch down and patch up their fighters.

* * *

Daala clenched her fists, furious at the allied forces' escape. Around her command chair, the holograms of her two Star Destroyers' captains stood patiently, hoping that they and their crews would be able to avoid her wrath.

'My fault, gentlemen, not yours,' she said, letting out a long, slow breath. 'How bad is the damage?'

Tarak frowned. 'My engines took a beating, Admiral. We're going to need a day or two to get them fixed up, at least a week in dry dock to get them fully repaired.'

'It's the same situation with us, ma'am,' said Tarak's counterpart. 'I'm afraid _Warhammer_ is the only one here with any sort of mobility.'

It was even worse than she'd thought. All these dead fighters and capital ships for nothing. There was no doubt that Pellaeon would return with a force capable of taking on her Super Star Destroyer. At least the damage to the fighter base on the surface was reparable. Perhaps with some added defenses and reinforcements, she would be able to take the old man on in a fight. Her Imperial ally had provided her with plenty of resources, many of which had yet to be used. The only cards she'd revealed at this point had been Tarak, the TIE Hunters, and the Dread Masters. She could still win this.

'Very well,' Daala replied. 'We hold position here. Get your ships patched up as quickly as possible. I'll send some of our own engineers over to help. In the mean time, let's see what we can do about fortification.'

'Thank you, Admiral,' said Tarak. 'We'll commence repairs now.'

And with that, Daala cut the connection. Before she could resume her duties, however, the comm beeped again. This time, it was a call from Omega Squadron's commander. The aggressor unit had acquitted itself well in the battle, accounting for most of the damage done to the Empire's fighter squadrons. She made a mental note to mark them down for a pay raise later.

'Commander,' she said, 'what can I do for you?'

'Admiral, requesting permission to pursue Rogue Squadron.' Right to the point. At least they were eager.

'They've already jumped to hyperspace. It's no use, Commander. Let your men stand down for now.'

'With respect, ma'am, we know where they are. My men and I have studied Alliance Starfighter Command tactics. Judging by how rushed their jump was, they should be no more than one light-year away. They took a beating during the fight, which means they'll be stopping for repairs. Admiral, my men can kill Rogue Squadron. Our TIEs are almost fully reloaded and refueled. We can take them, but only if we go _now_.'

Daala took a second to consider the notion. Omega Leader's pitch was impressive, certainly, but if his search proved fruitless, it would leave her fleet without one of its most powerful assets. Then again, the murder of Rogue Squadron was a tempting prospect.

'Very well, Commander. You may deploy when ready.'

* * *

'Boss, you got a moment?'

Syal, elbow-deep in her X-wing's power plant, pulled a hand out of the fighter's innards to activate her commlink. Damn, it was cold. Alliance flight suits had superb insulation, but even in deep space, they were only cleared for two hours of void exposure. Only IG-90 could conceivably last indefinitely out in space. Damned meatbag biology.

'Go ahead, Aresh. What's up?'

Her colleague dropped off his X-wing and walked over to her, a datapad in hand.

'You know how Daala was buying up concussion missiles from all over the Rim?'

Syal raised an eyebrow. 'Yeah. Why?'

Aresh handed her the datapad, tapping his finger on a sales report from a subsidiary of Arakyd. It showed a massive sale of various UT-9 missile variants-quick-maneuver, cluster, extended range, and more.

'The UT-9 is made for starfighters.' Syal frowned. 'Wait, I thought she was buying up capital-grade ordnance for the Super Star.'

'She was, but she was also looking into starfighter ordnance. What do you think of it?'

'The UT-9's too expensive and cutting-edge for equipping pirates,' she said. 'You think they're for Omega Squadron and her other elite TIE units?'

Aresh shrugged. 'Let's hope so. I don't want to think about the alternative.'

'What alt-Oh. _Oh_.' The blood drained from her face. 'Crapbaskets. You think she's really got her hands on one of those?'

'I wouldn't put it past her,' Aresh said gravely. 'Remember where Imperial superweapon R&amp;D used to live?'

'It could be worse,' Syal said wearily. 'At least it's not another Death Star.'

* * *

'I spy with my little eye-'

'We're not doing this again, Three.'

'Whoa, a little salty there, Two,' said Beiner.

Leda groaned, resting her head on her X-wing's flank. She'd been in the process of patching up a laser-damaged power coupling. 'Sorry. It's the fatigue. We've been on mission after mission, sortie after sortie. We've had, what, one break in the past few months? And that lasted a day or two. And most of us spent that time asleep.'

'Hey, it's what you signed up for.'

To be fair, Leda had a point. Beiner sat back in his seat, looking out at the stars. They'd all barely had time to get to know one another. Hell, most of them hadn't even shared backstories. Where was Ten even _from_?

'Might as well make up for all that flight time now, Two,' he said. 'Screw it. What did you do before you signed up?'

Leda shrugged, pausing to shut an access panel. 'Nothing, really. Civilian flight school, did a short stint as a courier pilot before I signed up for Alliance Starfighter Weapons School. You guys?'

'Mechanic,' Beiner said. 'Used to work at Sluis Van's shipyards until I decided to do something useful with my life.'

'Hunter,' Windspeaker grumbled. 'Well, I didn't do much of the shooting, obviously. I mostly did the flying for the teams. You can bullseye as many womp rats as you want from a Skyhopper or shuttle, but those laser cannons won't leave you with anything to take home.'

Beiner raised an eyebrow. 'Huh. You bag any krayt dragons?'

'Mmhm. The spoils are back home with the folks. Even snagged a couple of dragon pearls from a job. I can show you holos of the family jewels later if you want.'

Leda snorted. 'Pass, thanks. Family, huh? Brothers and sisters? You have a girl back home?'

'Oh, I've seen this holovid,' Windspeaker said. 'Cut that crap out. We're not talking about family out here.'

'What?' Leda asked indignantly. 'Come on, those are holovids. I'll tell you about my folks, then.'

'NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE,' Beiner yelled. 'No family talk. We've been lucky enough as is that the only one who's gotten vaped so far is Six. And he can come back from that.'

Leda groaned. 'You guys are crazy, you know that?'

With a chuckle, Windspeaker replied, 'Were you expecting Rogues to _not_ be crazy?'

* * *

'Hey, Seven,' Vigil said.

'What?'

'Doing anything fun?'

'Combat jack.' To his credit, Nodra remained completely deadpan about it.

'Ah. Dry jack or have you got any literature?'

'_Aqualicious_, this month's issue.'

Aqualish. Huh. At some point in his youth, Vigil would have balked at the idea of polishing the lightsaber to imagery of Aqualish, but the lack of gentleman's literature in Starfighter Command had broadened his horizons considerably. When you don't have many options, anything with lady bits, canards, or thrust-vectored engines would do. Even Quarren chicks had their own appeal if one was feeling a squiddle bit inkquisitive. Out of Vigil's flight, only Nodra had come away with damage that could be repaired by his astromech alone. While he was warm and cozy in his cockpit, Vigil and the others were extravehicular, shivering and fumbling about with toolkits and spare parts.

'You guys do realize you're broadcasting on flight comms, right?' Rosharra said, more than a little disgusted.

'Yep,' Vigil and Nodra chorused.

The Wookiee sighed. 'Outstanding. New topic. _Kairos_. The captain, Tarak, I think his name was.'

'Yeah, what about him?' Vigil asked.

'How did he get his hands on TIE Hunters? And for that matter, how did he manage to bring in a squadron that just so happened to be assigned to highly experimental fighter craft? I mean, a captain can't have that much pull, can he?'

'Maybe "Captain" just means shipmaster in this case,' Nodra mused. 'I mean, the guy in charge of the ship pretty much is the _captain_ of his ship, even if there's a superior officer on board, right?'

'Statement: Negative.'

Ninety had been silent the whole day. Its sudden talkativeness was a slight shock to Two Flight.

'He finally speaks,' Vigil quipped. 'Alright, Six, talk to us. What do you think of this whole business?'

The droid retracted an arc welder attachment on its right arm, switching it out for a spanner. 'Clarification: Tarak's rank pins when we saw them clearly marked him as one of the captain rank. I do not believe he was the man responsible for Admiral Daala's unusually vast pool of resources.'

'Huh,' Vigil grunted. 'You think there's more than one Imperial mole?'

'Statement: That is correct. Based on past observations, it is likely that Daala's Imperial benefactor is someone of a far higher rank.'

'One of the Moffs?' Nodra ventured. It was widely known that the Empire's Moffs remained an untrustworthy bunch, even after the rise of Jagged Fel as the new Emperor. Many of them remained hardline supporters of the old order. Perhaps one or more had decided to throw their lot in with Daala in the hopes that she could take on the Alliance and the more moderate elements of the Empire.

'Statement: I would bet money on it, Flight Officer Rosharra. In fact, I may even use my next extended leave to "acquire" a journalist's ticket for the Empire's next Mofference.'

Vigil snickered. Ninety's bloodthirst was certainly justified here. Even some people in the Empire would have jumped at the opportunity to give the Council of Moffs a dark greeting of their own.

* * *

'No, no, man, that's not how you treat a lady,' Tur'in said. 'Dinner? A movie? _Sticking your dick_ in something? Come on. Everyone knows that the proper way to romance a girl is to take her out on a flight then to spend the rest of the night cleaning out her engines.'

Sund paused, confused. 'Wait, are we talking about the same thing here?'

'Of course we are. Girls. Starships are girls, too. Am I right, Ten?'

From under his X-wing, Bulsara poked a hand out with his thumb up.

'See? Ten knows what's u-Hold on.'

Sund sat up in his seat, hands hovering over his instrument panel. In an instant, his fatigue had given way to the familiar adrenaline rush of combat.

'Something just pinged on passive sensors for a moment.' In order to maintain stealth, the Rogues had to shut off all sensors save for their short-range passive scanning. Long-distance active scans would have returned something more concrete, but they were easy to detect by enemy craft.

'Bandits?'

'Looks like.' Tur'in switched to squadron comms. 'Eleven to all units, cut your repairs short. We have company.'

* * *

At the edge of this dead, nameless star system, twelve TIE Spectres dropped out of hyperspace arranged in three finger-four formations.

'Nothing on sensors,' said Omega Three. 'Nothing indicating we've been detected, either.'

'That's expected,' Omega Leader said. The Rogues had to be here. This was the only star system within one light-year, and thus, the only one on the Rogues' escape vector that could contain the elusive Alliance fighters. 'Run a scan for atmosphere and gravity. Anything an X-wing or twelve might land on.'

It was a few minutes before the scans returned something of use. There were two small planets within the system, but their corrosive atmospheres made them unappealing landing spots for the maintenance-heavy and temperamental StealthXs.

'Two large asteroids,' said Omega Five. 'Two o'clock beyond the black hole, one o'clock closer to us.'

'Mark the one o'clock asteroid as a target.'

Based on Antilles' flying and style of command, the close asteroid had to be the logical target. She was too cautious to use the far asteroid as a landing point. He didn't blame her. They would have had to take a flight path that brought them dangerously close to the black hole's event horizon and exposed them to dangerous levels of radiation. Not even the Rogues would have gambled with something so hazardous.

Omega Leader upped the throttle on his fighter and set the master arm switch to active, setting his torpedo tubes to dual-fire. So far, the Rogues hadn't caught on to them yet. As the distance counter dropped, Omega Leader suppressed a predatory smile. Twenty-four torpedoes, more than enough to obliterate that rock and everything inside it. Splash twelve.


	30. 29: I Want to Break Free

29

I Want to Break Free

'Enemy X-wings sighted,' Omega Leader said. 'We've smoked them out. Omega Squadron, break.'

The TIE Spectres dispersed, maneuvering to bring each of the X-wings into a one-on-one fight. Omega Leader knew they had the advantage. Antilles was young and inexperienced, and her pilots no better. Each of his pilots was already well-versed in Alliance combat doctrine. They knew the X-wing's playbook well enough. Setting his throttle to full, Omega Leader aimed straight for the X-wing at the center of the Rogue formation.

Maximum torpedo range. He had a good tone. The Rogues fired first thanks to their starfighters' longer-ranged targeting systems, but only by a fraction of a second. He fired and snap-rolled, neatly dodging Antilles' torpedo. Then the two squadrons passed one another and turned. The dance was on.

* * *

'Damn, got one on my tail!' Sund yelled. 'I can't shake him!'

Tur'in turned his attention from the TIE fighting him for a moment to look for his wingman. Sund's X-wing broke hard to starboard and spun as laser bolts chased his starfighter.

'Roger that, Twelve. Pull up when I say,' he ordered, pulling hard on the stick.

'Now would be good, Eleven!'

'Steady, steady. Don't lose your nerve here. Wait for it. Wait for it. Now!'

Sund yanked his control stick hard, taking his starfighter into a climb right in front of Tur'in's sights. For the briefest moment, as the TIE approached, Tur'in got a lock tone. He fired on reflex, but the TIE jinked out of the way at the last moment, taking only a graze.

'Now to return the favor, Twelve,' he said.

His wingman tried to steer his X-wing into a good firing position, but its turning radius proved too wide. He overshot and cut speed to compensate. All the while, Tur'in watched his shield meter drop despite pulling every maneuver he knew.

'Crap, he's still on me!'

'Nine to Eleven, break to port now.'

Tur'in did so and was relieved to see the TIE behind him explode.

'Splash one,' Aresh said. 'Do not engage in duels. Gang up on the bastards and burn them down with focused fire.'

'Roger that,' Tur'in said. 'Let's get them, boss.'

* * *

'Can't see him,' Vigil said. 'I can't see him!'

Vigil wove through the debris of the asteroid that had served as their temporary landing spot, now a rapidly expanding cloud of rock and dust following the Omegas' initial torpedo volley. His cockpit rang with the constant tone of target lock warnings as the enemy pilot's sights drifted on and off his tail.

'Six, can you get to me?'

'Statement: Negative. All processes currently devoted to evasive maneuvers.'

Vigil craned his neck, spotting Ninety's X-wing pulling turns no meatbag could manage as it fought to shake the more maneuverable Spectre.

'Six, I've got a plan. Come about to starboard now.'

The droid complied, still yawing and sideslipping at random as it flew towards its wingman. Vigil climbed to meet his wingman and rolled, snap-firing as they passed. Ninety fired a fraction of a second later. Though neither of the TIEs had been hit, the two pursuers had broken off their chase long enough for the two X-wings to regroup and form up.

'Six, can you do anything about slicing their comms?' Vigil asked.

'Statement: One moment. Executing slicing protocol.'

A few seconds of hectic dodging later, Ninety managed to break the TIEs' comm security.

'Stay on them,' growled one of the Omegas.

'Up and roll to port now,' said another.

'Omega Leader, we're down one craft.'

'Roger that, maintain flight patterns,' replied the TIEs' commander. 'We still have the advantage.'

As much as he hated to admit it, Vigil knew the TIEs were still in a winning position here. His fuel gauge was running low and he was out of torps. His top port engine was running at dangerous temperatures following a hit that had penetrated his shields.

'Five to Lead,' Vigil said, 'orders? Fuel levels are running low. Do we stay or run, Commander?'

* * *

Syal K-turned and shot one of the TIEs, blasting a hole in its starboard wing panel. Undeterred, the enemy fighter rolled and attempted to loop onto her tail. She cursed. At the rate they were burning fuel, they'd be dead in the void in a matter of moments. They had to run, and run quickly. No time for taking the safe route around to the system's edge.

'Rogues, form up on me and break away. Follow my flight path as closely as you can because I'm going to do something retarded.'

Aresh knew her playbook well enough to predict what they were about to do. 'I hope Incom's radiation shielding figures were right, then.'

'You can worry about superfluous tentacles after we get out of here, Nine. Now who wants to live forever?'

Grinning, Aresh replied, 'Ready when you are, Commander.'

Syal turned her X-wing on its starboard foils and broke away neatly from the furball, aiming for the center of this forlorn slice of space: the black hole.

'COMMANDER, YOU ARE FLYING TOWARDS THE BLACK HOLE,' Spark trilled.

'Yep.'

'COMMANDER, YOU DO REALIZE THAT-'

'Yep.'

'SYAL, I PROTEST TO THIS COURSE OF-'

'Mmhm.'

'YOU'RE CRAZY.'

'You only just realized?'

The Rogues pulled away at high speed, sticking close to Syal. With all power output focused on shields and engines, the StealthX-2 was just a touch faster than Omega Squadron, which had to split its own energy supplies among shields, engines, and weapon systems. Syal gritted her teeth as the Rogues dove into the black hole's accretion disk, pushing their starfighters to the limit to avoid flying into its event horizon. Even then, Syal felt her X-wing shudder in pain as the black hole's gravity played hell with their maneuvering. All the crap in the accretion disk would no doubt ruin the stealth coating, too.

'Commander,' Leda said, 'just for the record, this goes beyond "retarded".'

'It's this or dogfighting, Two. And we don't have the fuel for dogfighting. Seven, you've got our escape jump plotted?'

'Up to three significant figures, Commander. They're inelegant, but they'll work.'

'Good, now keep up.'

* * *

Omega Leader readjusted his sensors again and again as he skirted the black hole's accretion disk. There was too much junk and radiation to accurately pinpoint the Rogues from this distance, and he wasn't going to risk his squadron on chasing them through all that.

'Lead to all, spread out and circle the accretion disk. We'll head them off on the other side.'

Dammit, Antilles really was getting desperate if she was pulling something as risky as this. Omega Leader switched off laser recharge and diverted the power to engines. They had to catch the Rogues fast and harry them until they ran out of fuel. They wouldn't be this vulnerable ever again.

* * *

'Shield malfunction,' Beiner said nervously. 'My shield generator's losing power fast.'

Even as he dumped energy from his weapons and nonessential systems into his shields, the gauge dropped steadily. In a few seconds, he would lose them completely, leaving his X-wing without the only hard counter to the radiation emitted by the black hole and the contents of the accretion disk.

'Steady, Four,' Syal said. 'We're almost through. Can you still maneuver?'

'Yeah. Engines are working fine. I'm down to passive sensors and the Mark I eyeball for guidance, though.'

'Noted. Maintain formation. We're almost through this.'

Omega Squadron would probably be circling around the black hole as they spoke. Their most likely course of action would be to simply set up shop on the other side of the disk, expecting the Rogues to take an easy, quick straight-line path past the black hole. She had other things in mind. Syal rotated her fighter and yanked hard on the stick, turning toward the edge of the line of no return in the hopes of using the black hole's gravity to slingshot her fighter out of the accretion disk. Even as she did so, stress warnings and hull damage alarms appeared on her helmet display. She blink-clicked them all out of view, concentrating on the maneuver even as the stress of the turn threatened to drive her into unconsciousness.

'Come on baby,' she whispered, 'come on. Hold together for me.'

More alarms. Her flight harness dug painfully into her shoulders as her starfighter's inertial compensator gave out.

'Shields down!' yelled one of the Rogues. She couldn't tell which.

'My targeting computer's fried!'

'Four, you still with me? Four!'

'On your six, Three!'

'Statement: Radiation levels-'

'Almost there,' Syal muttered, shutting the others' voices out.

And soon, the turn was over, her fighter's momentum flinging it on an exit vector bound for the edge of the system. The stellar dust and debris soon gave way to a clear starfield as Syal led the Rogues past the black hole to safety, their X-wings' engines straining as they squeezed every bit of power they could from their battered fighters' power plants.

'Rogues, form up at Seven's plotted jump point. As soon as your hyperdrives are charged, you're cleared to jump. Nine and I will stay behind to cover any stragglers.'

* * *

'Shit, they're out! The Rogues just broke free of the accretion disk!'

Omega Leader turned his starfighter towards Omega Six's comm signal.

'They used the black hole's gravity instead of just punching straight through,' Omega Leader said. 'Impressive. Six, pursue them. We're en route to support.'

'You'd better hurry, Lead. Rogue Squadron is almost at a safe jump distance.'

'Their hyperdrives will be damaged and slow to charge after all that radiation damage. Don't overstretch.'

The other surviving TIE Spectres formed up by Omega Six as they adjusted their flight plans, ordnance tubes armed and ready. They would only have a brief window of opportunity before their prey escaped the net.

* * *

'Four, jumping!'

'Seven, jumping!'

Two more away. That left Eleven, Five, and Six. Even then this was progressing far too slowly. Omega Squadron was almost in torpedo range. Syal gritted her teeth.

'Five, Six, Eleven, keep on charging your hyperdrives. Nine, we'll intercept the TIEs.'

Syal and Aresh formed up and turned to meet the incoming Spectres. With no torps left, Syal switched to single-shot and opened fire, blowing Omega Leader's torps out of the void. As the TIEs broke formation, Syal chased the lead fighter.

'You're good, Antilles,' Omega Leader said on open comms. 'I'll give you that much. But I'm going to take your squadron apart like Centerpoint did your last one.'

Syal smirked. 'Centerpoint Station had a pretty big gun, Omega. What's your excuse?'

Her target jinked to starboard, breaking free of her momentary laser lock.

'I've got plenty of firepower to spare, rookie.'

'Funny, your girlfriend said otherwise,' Syal sniped, following up with a grazing shot to Omega Leader's tailpipe. She was gratified to see that her lasers had pierced his shields, leaving the engines trailing a thin line of smoke. As the TIE sped away, Syal broke off pursuit and switched targets.

Switching to encrypted channels, Syal asked, 'Rogues, how are we doing?'

'Minor damage sustained,' Aresh said simply. 'No hindrance to maneuvering or combat capabilities.'

'Eleven, jumping!' Tur'in yelled.

'Five here, full charge but I'm staying until Six is ready to go.'

'Statement: hyperdrive still charging. Main power converter damaged, diverting hyperdrive power to secondaries. Thirty seconds.'

Thirty seconds. Okay, that was manageable. She had enough fuel to stick dogfight for ten more minutes.

Syal rotated her X-wing and kicked on the etheric rudder, pulling her fighter onto the tail of an enemy TIE aiming for Aresh's starfighter. She ranged the shot and fired, not waiting for a target lock. Bang. Her lasers sheared the top off the Spectre's ball cockpit.

'Crap! I've lost the top hatch!' yelled the Omega pilot. 'Breaking away from combat space!'

'Hell of a shot, Lea-_Shit!_' Aresh exclaimed, barely juking out of the way of a torpedo snap-fired at short range. As the torp turned to catch him, he broke away, popping flares.

'Nine, you're too far out!' Syal said. Even before she finished that sentence, Omega Squadron caught on and a flight of TIEs broke past the two X-wings' defensive flying to target Vigil and Ninety. 'Dammit! Five, Six, you've got four fighters coming at you! Get out of there _now_! Nine, pull the defense back to them!'

Vigil saw the enemy fighters coming, too. Instead of escaping as ordered, he turned to meet them. Almost immediately, his cockpit rang with lock warnings as Omega Squadron swarmed.

'Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap!' he muttered. 'Too many! Too many! Six, hurry up and get that damn hyperdrive charged!'

Then the warnings picked up in urgency as a missile closed on his tail. He popped flares to buy himself a few more seconds and fired hastily into the mix of TIEs. He was maneuvering too frantically to confirm a kill or even a hit. Syal and Aresh arrived in support a few seconds later, dispersing the TIEs, but their fighters were in no condition to pull the same insane maneuvers Omega Squadron was making without being torn apart. Vigil inverted, fired again, and pulled hard on the stick to shake a pursuer...only to find himself face to face with another TIE. It had torps. He didn't. The enemy fighter loosed a torpedo at point-blank range. No room to dodge, and his lasers were still a half-second away from recycling.

* * *

Aresh cut throttle and turned into his target's path, filling the space ahead of the TIE with laser fire. Though the Spectre managed to break off, it had ceased its pursuit of Syal.

'Nineball, cut all systems damage reports,' he snapped, blink-clicking away the warnings on his helmet display. His starfighter was aching from a dozen minor wounds, but none had so far proven problematic. His lower portside engine had flamed out briefly, but a quick restart sequence had brought it back to tolerable levels of functionality.

As he passed Vigil's X-wing, however, an explosion shook his starfighter.

'Crap,' he breathed. He took a brief glance around his cockpit. No major hull breaches. 'Nineball, were we just hit now?'

'NEGATIVE, COMMANDER,' the droid replied.

'Then who-' Aresh looked at his sensor display. One of the friendly signatures had disappeared.

'Son of a bitch. Nine to all units, who's down? What the hell just happened?'

* * *

Vigil saw the torp speed towards him in slow motion. Even as his finger tensed on the trigger, he knew his cannons wouldn't recharge quickly enough to blow the warhead out of the void in time. Then another X-wing flashed into view and took the torp for him.

'What the hell?' he asked. He fired blindly into the cloud of flame and smoke where the enemy TIE had once been. His astromech trilled with a hit confirmation as the enemy TIE broke away with a slagged wing panel. That had been an X-wing just now. Who had just-?

Ninety. His wingman had taken the hit. The second time he'd failed to protect his wingman.

'Five to Lead and Nine, Six is gone. Rogue Six took a torp meant for me.'

'Damn,' Syal said. 'Get out of there, Five. Nine and I will cover for you.'

Vigil shook his head, fists clenching on his controls. 'Negative. I'm not leaving you two behind to-'

'That's an order, Five,' Aresh responded icily. 'We'll be right behind you. Now go.'

Vigil craned his neck to survey the area around the jump point before he came to a full stop. The other two Rogue X-wings were now flying in close support, just barely managing to hold off the rest of Omega Squadron. His finger hovered over the hyperdrive activation key. This wasn't right. He hated the idea of leaving Commander Antilles and Commander Aresh to fight these bastards by themselves. He wanted a piece of these assholes, too. Many of the pilots they'd shot in the back had been his friends.

'Five, go!' Syal ordered.

Vigil sighed, defeated. 'Stay alive, boss.'

'Count on it,' Syal replied.

'Five, entering hyperspace.' He hit the button and collapsed back into his seat as he entered the safety of hyperspace. He hoped Nodra's coordinates had been right.

* * *

Syal bit back more colorful profanity as she spared her damage readouts a brief look. Her cannons were close to overheating and her engines were in similarly bad shape. Stress from maneuvering and damage from stray laser and shrapnel impacts had jarred many of her fighter's internal components as well.

'Alright, Nine,' she said, 'your turn. Get the hell out of here.'

'Negative.'

She needed a moment to realize what Aresh had just said. 'Nine, _get the hell out of here_. I have the rearguard.'

'No, Commander, the rearguard action is mine,' Aresh replied wearily. 'I just took a bad hit. My hyperdrive's slagged.'

'What?'

'I can't make the jump, Commander. I'll keep you covered.'

Syal dodged through the laser fire, pulling up alongside Aresh. Surely enough, his port flank was a mess of laser burns and shrapnel scarring. One of his engines had burned out. She pulled away a moment later to dive back into the fight.

'Shit,' she said. 'I'm not leaving you here.'

'A bit hypocritical, aren't we?'

'I'm not losing another squadmate,' she said. 'Not again.'

'I'm a lost cause, Commander. Go. I can still eject.'

Syal knew he was right. There was no way he could repair his hyperdrive and dogfight at the same time. With their current fuel levels, his starfighter would be dead in the void long before his astromech could get those systems fixed up again.

'Alright,' she said at last. 'Bail out ASAP, you hear me? I'll be back for you. I promise.'

'Wilco, Lead.'

Aresh pulled his X-wing in behind Syal's, flying close and firing as quickly as his cannons would cycle to keep the TIEs away.

'Rogue Leader, jumping.'

* * *

It was done. They were safe. Aresh leaned back with a sigh of relief as he pulled his X-wing towards one of the larger asteroids. His starfighter had taken a bad hit during those last few seconds. His shields had failed moments ago and he'd lost most of his helmet display and instrument panel functionality shortly after. He smelled something burning in the cockpit. A near-miss from a torpedo had torn a breach below the canopy on his port side, though his flight suit's armorweave layer had stopped the shrapnel from compromising his void survivability.

Even if he did eject, he knew he was a dead man. This far into uncharted territory with whatever scant supplies came in his ejector seat, he was bound to die of cold or dehydration long before any rescue attempts would reach him. But still. The Rogues were known for doing the impossible. He reached down and pulled on the ejection handle.

Nothing.

He pulled again, and it didn't give. The eject handle was stuck.

'So I guess this is it,' he said, giving up on the third pull. 'I'm sorry, Nineball.'

The droid whistled mournfully. With his display offline, he couldn't figure out what the little droid was saying.

'Looks like the Commander won't have to go looking for us after all.'

The TIEs closed in, hoping to confirm the kill. Aresh gripped his starfighter's controls one last time.

'Let's see if we can give them a parting gift, eh?'

* * *

Aboard _Bloodfin_, Grand Admiral Pellaeon consulted with the allied fleets' other commanders. Battered, bruised, but not beaten, the Star Destroyer had returned to friendly space quickly thanks to her expert navigators and engineers. Currently it sat in drydock at Kalbe, undergoing repairs and reloading. Solo and Antilles were present via hologram, as well as Booster Terrik by Pellaeon's request.

'Gentlemen,' he said, 'the push into the Maw has failed. Daala has a Super Star Destroyer and, quite possibly, several other agents planted in our midst. I don't have the intelligence expertise to do much in the latter case, but I believe I do have a plan to take on the former case that doesn't involve the horrific loss of life and materiel required by a slugging match.'

'Alright, Admiral,' Wedge replied, 'I'm all ears. What have you got for us?'

'Well, it's come to my attention that Captain Terrik here has some contacts in quite a number of different industries,' Pellaeon said. 'I'd like his aid in acquiring a few things.'

Booster narrowed his eyes suspiciously, fully aware of Pellaeon's usual disdain for the galaxy's criminal underworld. 'I might, Admiral. Depends on what you're asking for.'

Pellaeon gave the old smuggler a reassuring smile. 'Nothing too illicit, Captain Terrik. I'm going to need mole miners. Lots of them.'


	31. 30: Another One Bites the Dust

30

Another One Bites the Dust

With a flicker of pseudo-motion, ten StealthX fighters dropped out of hyperspace. Beaten, broken down, and battle-scarred, the Rogues breathed a collective sigh of relief as they arrived at the final step of their long retreat. In the familiar space of the Marada System, the Rogues reunited with _Bloodfin _and _Firelance._ In addition to the Star Destroyer and CR90, Pellaeon had also managed to pull in additional reinforcements-three Carracks, an Interdictor, two ImpStar Deuces, and another _Turbulent_-class. Syal leaned back in her seat and relaxed as _Bloodfin's_ tractor beams pulled her team back home. In a few minutes, they'd all disembarked.

'Boss,' Tur'in called out, running to catch up with Syal with Bulsara and Sund behind him. 'Are we going back for Nine?'

Syal shrugged. 'I don't know. Right now, none of us are in any shape for another sortie and our fighters aren't looking too hot, either. Even if we broke out our old XJ-7s, the chances of retracing our route safely with a retrieval shuttle tagging along would be slim to nil. Our chances of bringing him back alive are even slimmer if Daala's policy regarding ejected pilots is anything to go by.'

'We can't just leave him there,' Sund protested. Bulsara nodded in agreement.

'Look,' Syal said, fighting to keep her temper in check, 'I don't like this either. But I'm not throwing any of you back into the fight so soon after what just happened. Even if I managed to convince the General to green-light us for another sortie, do any of you honestly think you could dogfight worth a damn right now?'

Silence. The surviving members of Three Flight were nearly dead on their feet. After hours of perilous flying through the Maw's countless environmental hazards, sitting in the cramped confines of a starfighter cockpit, and maintaining a constant state of vigilance, what the Rogues desperately needed most was sleep. Syal wasn't going to risk her pilots' lives by throwing them back into the fire when most of them could barely stay awake.

'It stings, Commander, leaving one of our own like that.'

'I know, Twelve. But there's nothing any of us can do right now. Get some sack time. All of you.'

Three Flight's pilots saluted wearily. 'Yub yub, Commander,' Tur'in said.

Syal watched them go and made her way to her own temporary quarters aboard _Bloodfin_. Right as the door shut, someone knocked. Syal hit the button and the door slid open with a hiss again. It was Baron Fel, freshly transferred back from his op with the Wraiths with a box tucked under his arm.

'Hey, kid,' he said. 'Heard your last mission was hell.'

Syal nodded, plopping down on the bed while the Baron took the chair by her desk. 'Like you wouldn't believe. We lost a lot of good people during that op. What's in the box?'

The Baron passed it to her. It was a simple affair with a note on top that simply said, 'From Mom'.

'The _Claw_ received a supply shipment while you guys were gone. Myri got hers, I volunteered to deliver yours.'

Syal couldn't help but smile. Even though she was still sore about the loss of an old friend, the sight of a little slice of home still felt good. She opened the package carefully, trying to keep the wrapping paper intact. Baron Fel rolled his eyes.

'Oh. You're one of those people.'

'No sense in making a mess,' Syal said. 'Oh. Oh wow.'

Syal unpacked the contents with great, almost reverent care. She'd received a small bottle of Whyren's Reserve, a little stuffed Ewok (Yub yub, Commander) a datapad with a few new novels to read, but most importantly, _chocolate_. The Yuuzhan Vong had reshaped seven of the galaxy's eight major chocolate-producing worlds, making the good stuff a rarity. Poor Uncle Luke had been devastated when the news of the galaxy's chocolate shortage came in.

'How-'

'Your mom's got connections,' Baron Fel said with a wink.

Just then, the holocomm on Syal's desk pinged. Someone was calling. Baron Fel hit the receive button, causing a hologram of Wes to appear.

'Hey, kiddo,' Wes began, 'how's-wait a minute. I don't remember this being Baron Fel's number.'

The Baron raised the People's Eyebrow. 'Who in the _blue harvest_ are you?'

'Alright, Fel, what did you do to Syal?'

With a theatrical sigh, Syal stepped into the holocomm's capture field. 'Hey, Uncle Wes.'

'Hey hey, Syal,' Wes greeted, 'how are you holding up? Heard your end of the fight got hit pretty hard.'

Syal nodded. 'Yeah, we got shot up bad. Lost a lot of people. _Heavy Metal Queen_ and _Black Reef_ both didn't make it. We lost one of our own, too.'

Wes winced. 'Damn. That bad, huh?'

Baron Fel, sensing the need to lighten the mood, piped up. 'Could be worse. At least you aren't Wes after the night with the Gungan.'

'What night with the Gungan?' Wes and Syal chorused.

'Don't play coy with me, Janson. I was there. You and the Gungan,' Baron Fel pressed. 'The Baron knows you were there with us during the Naboo op. The Baron knows you have a taste for strange flavors of poontang pie. And the Baron _knows_ that sometimes, you like to get a little _tipsy_, guzzle a bit of that _moonshine! Woo!_'

Syal tried and failed to keep from cracking up. This most certainly was _not_ one of those war stories Uncle Wes shared during the big family reunion dinners.

'Whoa, Baron,' Wes said defensively, 'I don't know what the hell you're talking about.'

The Baron rolled his eyes. '"OH, MEESA DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUSA TALKEN." Bantha poodoo. The Baron knows what you got up to at the Bar Gunga. "Hurrr, oh man, I whassa guy gotta do to get some 'round here?" Then you walk up to the bar. Then you see one of the Gungan troopers-big, muscular, having a laugh, got arms that can sling those Gungan bombs for days. Then you walk up to the bar and the Gungan looks at you and asks, "Hey, off-worlder, yousa wanna me to show you a good time?" And then you walk off arm in arm with your new Gungan friend and me and Hobbie and Tycho and Wedge! We pass by one of them Gungan buildings, don't know what kind of building, and the Gungan ushers you inside and bids us all good night because the rest of us have work to do the next day! Next day, you don't show up! We go looking for you at the building, ask for that drunk off-worlder with the accent, and down comes the same Gungan in nightclothes carrying your trembling ass! "OOH! YOUSA FRIEND HERE NOT GOTTA LOTTA LIFTIN'! HEESA BE NEEDIN' MORE MUSCLE FOR DA NEXT NIGHT SO ME AN' DA REST O' DA GIRLS CAN HAVIN' OURSA FUN!"'

There was a pause. Syal giggled like a little kid and Wes looked on in shock.

Then Wes said, 'Whoa, Fel, it was just one night!'

Hobbie broke out into hysterics in the background and collapsed on the floor behind Wes, falling and rolling into his holocomm's capture field. Syal suffered the same fate, laughing uproariously until she ran out of breath, tears streaming from her eyes. As it turned out, she snorted when she laughed.

Baron Fel recoiled in horror. 'Whoawhoawhoawhoa WHOA WHOA _WHOA! _Sweet _cream_ on an ICE CREAM SANDWICH! You just _admitted_ that? The Baron was _kidding_! You just admitted, live, in front of your niece that you did that? What in the _blue harvest_ is wrong with you? You sick _ffffffffreak_! You like poontang, Wes? You like poontang?'

Dumbfounded and confused, Wes stammered, 'Well, um, yeah-'

'Well _poontang_ your ass out of there, Jabroni!'

And with that, Baron Fel cut the feed. In between giggling fits, Syal thought to herself that she really did have the most fun family in the galaxy. Suddenly, she didn't feel quite so bad anymore.

* * *

Daala watched _War Hammer_'s orbital cameras, checking on the progress of the fortifications on the planet's surface. Things were progressing quickly and on schedule, as the engineers had predicted. Not quick enough for her, though. Most of the necessary preparations were in place. _War Hammer_'s command tower hangar had been stocked with an escape shuttle and a flight of escort fighters. The best shipmasters and capital ships in her army had all mustered here for the coming battle and the surface-to-orbit weapon array was complete. The only thing left to do was construct the power plants for the shield generators that would protect the base and hypervelocity cannon array.

The Admiral tapped her foot nervously. Against Antilles and Solo, she could hold. With Pellaeon at the helm, however, she wasn't quite so sure. She was running out of resources and places to run. Already, Antilles and Solo had cut off and destroyed the battle groups guarding her flanks and encircled this system. The only escape route was forward, towards the heavily guarded Marada System. Her forces lacked the fuel reserves and bulk freighters necessary for a breakthrough attempt. The end was near. But she still had plenty of trump cards to go. She simply had to hold out and break the allied forces' offensive here. Reinforcements from her Imperial benefactor would come if she could just hold out a little longer. She could still win this. She could still _win_ this, dammit.

She keyed her comm unit. 'Colonel Yulan, are all of our forces here?'

'Aye, Admiral. They are.'

'And what's the status of Gold and Omega Squadrons?'

'Gold Squadron is ready to go. They've received fresh replacements and Hunters and are awaiting your orders. Commander Castor has also reported satisfaction with his new craft. Omega Squadron has returned from its sortie as well.'

Daala looked at the datapad containing Omega Leader's latest after-action report. Disappointing, but expected, really. 'Very good, Colonel. See to it that their fighters receive proper repairs and maintenance. Unfortunately, we lack reserve TIE Spectres and pilots trained in their use, so they'll have to deploy understrength.'

'Understood, Admiral. They won't be happy about it, though. What of the Dread Master?'

Daala paused for a moment to think. 'Keep him on a leash. Follow his more reasonable demands, but keep an eye on him. If he tries anything funny, break out stunners and tranquilizers. How are the ysalamiri?'

'Fine so far, ma'am. We have a surplus of nutrient frames and storage units, no thanks to our retrieval teams' failure on Myrkr.'

Indeed. Only a handful of ysalamiri had made it back to the Maw Irregular Fleet, less than half the quota she'd set for the infiltrators. One of her stealth shuttles and all of its troops had gone missing, likely captured. Incompetent fools.

'Good. Make sure the Dread Master's handlers have ysalamiri on hand in case he gets uppity.'

Daala had one of the little lizards herself, situated behind her desk. It was handy for keeping the artifact's Force signature hidden from the Sith. It also kept the artifact from calling out to her. The accursed thing _wanted_ a host on which to feed. She shook her head. Dire circumstances overall, but nothing from which she couldn't escape.

Everything was almost set.

* * *

Han mopped sweat from his brow as he holstered his arc welder. He stood on top of the _Millennium Falcon_, servicing the old girl in his free time. It was tiring, irritating, and occasionally dangerous, but he loved the old girl too much to let anyone else touch her. Like Lando. _Especially_ Lando. Then he looked up and saw his companion screwing in the wrong component.

'No, no, no,' he groaned, 'that flux capacitor goes _there_. _That_ access panel needs a new set of power converters and wiring. Come on, Chewie.'

Chewbacca blinked and looked down. Whoops. The old Wookiee had, indeed, slotted the flux capacitor in the wrong place. With a grunt of acknowledgement, Chewie undid his error and went back to repairs. Han rolled his eyes and got back to welding.

Nobody had found Chewie's body after that little incident with the moon. Han, Leia, and everyone else believed him dead. It came as a big, shaggy, and welcome surprise when their favorite walking carpet just appeared at their doorstep a few weeks later complaining about having to walk all the way back. Nobody really questioned his return. Nobody needed to. And with Mara back, most of the family was back together.

'Hey, Chewie,' Han asked, 'have we got the missiles loaded?'

The Wookiee roared in affirmative. He'd already taken the liberty of filling up the Falcon's ordnance tubes and autoloaders with concussion missiles.

'Good,' Han said. 'I guess the only thing left to do is to fix the ECM systems.'

Han opened an egress hatch and dropped down into the Falcon.

* * *

Pellaeon surveyed the mole miners' delivery from a catwalk, watching the great machines being hauled into _Bloodfin_'s cargo bays.

One of the officers on duty, Lieutenant Jetrie, asked, 'What are the mole miners for, sir, if you don't mind me asking?'

'It's a little trick an old friend of mine tried back in the day. The engineers modify these mole miners for void flight to turn these things into big, armored boarding craft.'

Down below, deck personnel guided the machines into their designated parking spots, waving glowing rods to and fro. Engineers climbed on top of the ones already parked, welding on ablative armor, sealing seams, and modifying the mining gear. Later, the techs would strip out much of the superfluous mining equipment inside to make room for troops. Simply put, these mole miners would put the 'party' in 'boarding party'.

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow. 'Sounds effective. And brutal, if the mining drills are anything to go by.'

'Very,' Pellaeon answered. 'They nearly succeeded back then, too, had it not been for the actions of Luke Skywalker and the crew of the _Millennium Falcon_.'

'But they're on our side now.'

'Exactly.'


	32. 31: Krayt Eater

31

Krayt Eater

Kyle Katarn hit the release button on his grav-chute harness, dropping down from the tree that had caught the chute. The humidity on this planet, whatever its mission designation was, was awful. Taking a spare length of cloth from a thigh pocket, Kyle tied it around his forehead to form a makeshift bandanna. It looked silly, but it would at least keep the sweat out of his eyes. At that moment, his ear bead pinged.

There was a brief instant of static at first before Jan's voice cleared up. 'Testing, testing. Do you copy? Probe droid recon says your objective is a few grid squares in the direction you're facing. We're deep in enemy territory, so this line might not be all that secure. From here on out, keep comms silent outside of emergencies. You know the bail-out code.'

He did. It was 'Jerec.' He drew his vibroknife and Bryar pistol, fitted with a sound and flash suppressor for the sake of maintaining stealth. 'Roger that. Commencing Virtuous Mission.'

And with that, Kyle Katarn set off into the jungle, heading north to find and destroy the power plant for the hypervelocity gun array's shield generator.

* * *

GR-015 stopped in his tracks. The stormtrooper hadn't heard the other patrol report as scheduled. Standing guard at the outskirts of the shield generator facility, GR-015's unit had been tasked with protecting one of the southern access bridges. 'Eta 2-2, you've gone silent. Eta 2-2, respond.'

Static.

'All Eta callsigns, this is Eta 2-1. 2-2 has gone silent. Moving to search his last known position.'

GR-015 readied his blaster rifle and crossed the bridge, heading toward the jungle. Kyle Katarn watched from cover as the target neared. Eta 2-2 had been dealt with minutes earlier, taking a vibroblade to the throat. The rest of Eta team had suffered a similar fate, too. GR-015 neared the end of the bridge, passing under a tree branch. Kyle aimed his pistol at the insect hive hanging from the branch. He waited until the stormtrooper took his hand off his comm-bead and fired. It was a beautiful shot.

'AAAAAAAAAH! NOT THE BEES! NOT THE BEES! THEY'RE IN MY HELMET! AAAAAAAAAH!'

The stormtrooper swatted ineffectually as a swarm of angry bugs swarmed him, stumbling blindly about. After a few seconds, the trooper slipped and fell, going right over the railing. Kyle hurried across and ducked into the safety of the underbrush on the other side.

The jungle was noisy, full of the sounds of native birds and insects, and the plants were plentiful. Enemy patrols would be hard-pressed to detect Kyle's movements by sight or by hearing. He continued slowly through the forest, taking care to double back and loop every so often out of habit to throw off any potential trackers. The few animals he did see were small and timid. Idly, he wondered if any of them were edible.

Kyle's trek through the outer jungle passed uneventfully, with most of his time spent crawling through grass and dirt, sitting still when patrols passed by, knifing or shooting the few guards that he couldn't sneak past, and looting as many access codes and key cards as he could find. There was no way in hell he would risk trekking up and down base facilities for keys this time. The power plant itself couldn't be accessed over land. According to his map, the shield generator was on the other side of a massive ravine, accessible only via an underground tunnel that began in the center of one of the Maw's fortresses. Great. He had his work cut out for him.

* * *

'Eta team, Eta team, respond, over.'

Firebase Charlie's commander sighed with frustration as his calls were met with more static. He tapped the comm operator on the shoulder.

'Try one of the other frequencies. The jungle's been playing hell with comm signals.'

Behind him, the command center doors slid open with a hiss.

'I don't think your guys are going to answer, my friend,' growled a voice. It wasn't one the commander had heard from any of his team. Who the hell-

Kyle Katarn snapped the base commander's neck before he could finish that line of thought. Blocking a clumsy punch from the comm officer, he responded with a throat punch and a Force-enhanced jab to the headset, preventing him from calling for help. The comm officer stumbled back, fumbling for a weapon of some sort. Kyle elbowed him in the throat again and put him into a chokehold. The Maw trooper struggled for a moment, landing a few weak blows on the Jedi, but eventually he succumbed and lost consciousness. Kyle snapped his neck, too. He stuffed the bodies into a nearby janitor's closet and made his way back out.

* * *

At the same time, a squad of hunters converged on Firebase Charlie. Clad in black beskar and armed to the teeth, they were among the many Mandalorian elites assigned to defend Daala's bases. All was silent save for the sound of their footsteps and the clink of their leader's riding spurs. The squad leader leered in disapproval at the lax discipline of the base's security. He idly twirled a compact blaster pistol around a finger as he walked down the central path, scanning for targets and lines of fire. The firebase troops gave them a wide berth, stepping aside or diverting patrol routes to avoid getting in their way.

'Shit,' whispered one stormtrooper, 'is that the Nexu unit?'

The insignia painted on their pauldrons answered that question well enough. It was a unit logo depicting a pouncing nexu above a personal kill tally.

'Spread out,' their leader said. 'Find the intruder.'

Wordlessly, the other four commandos broke formation to search back paths and base structures. Whoever this guy was, he was good. Half a dozen patrols wiped out or missing, and comm updates from the base commander had stopped coming in. No matter. Mandalorians were trained to take on all comers, even Jedi. Especially Jedi. They would find this Alliance dog and flay him alive.

Strolling up to the command center, the Nexu commander kicked the door in and swept the entrance hallway. Clear. He kept his gun raised, checking each room methodically. Clear, clear, clear. Nothing. He was just about to give up on the search when an odd smell wafted across his nostrils. It was neither the sweaty odor of the unwashed Maw grunts nor the earthy musk of the jungle. It smelled _clean_. Like Old Space odor blocker body wash, to be precise. He knew from the conditions on this base that the Maw troopers weren't the type to bother with things like janitorial staff and he'd seen no droids on the premises.

Then a janitor stepped out of a closet and looked at him with surprise.

'Uh, can I help you?' the janitor asked.

The Mandalorian raised an eyebrow and gave the guy a once-over. The janitorial clothes were baggy, preventing him from getting a good idea of the man's build, but he looked fit. His overalls seemed barely used. And oddly, the man's face lacked the patina of grease that coated the dirty masses elsewhere around the base.

'Yes, actually,' the mercenary replied. 'I'm looking for an intruder. He's proven rather elusive. I don't suppose you've seen anything odd around here, have you?'

Shrugging, the janitor responded, 'I don't know, man. I just got here. My first couple of hours on the job.'

Nexu Leader appraised this curious fellow once more. He no longer looked quite so muscular, carrying himself with the slouch of menial laborers. There was too much gray in his beard, his features too wrinkled to be those of a spy.

'I suppose I should have expected no better. Get out.'

'Hey, you don't have to tell me twice, bub,' the old custodian said. 'I wouldn't want to hang around some guy like you too long.'

The old man hurried out, leaving the Mandalorian alone with his thoughts. Odd. Something was off about this whole business. The way his impression of the janitor changed in the blink of an eye, the man's movements as he left. And then there were his boots. Those weren't the cheap work boots of a common laborer. Those were-

Oh, _goddammit_. Jedi mind tricks!

The Mandalorian gave chase.

* * *

Just as Kyle thought he'd shaken his tail, he heard the clink of spurs.

'I'm not that easy to fool, Jedi,' the Nexu commander said.

With a weary sigh, Kyle turned and smirked, trying to hide his exasperation. This youngster was observant, certainly, but his overconfidence would be his undoing. They stood alone in an isolated corner of Firebase Charlie, a few meters from one another. Hands strayed to holsters, fingers tensing and flexing expectantly. The noon sun hung overhead, baking the entire facility with its merciless heat. Not a thing stirred. Even the jungle seemed to have gone quiet.

As the Mandalorian twitched, Kyle channeled the Force through his limbs, granting them supernatural speed. His pistol cleared leather first. Kyle snap-fired, the Mandalorian shooting a split second later. Both were already diving for cover. Kyle got behind a brick wall unscathed. When he peeked out, he was pleased to see that the commando had taken a glancing shot to the shoulder.

'You're good, Jedi,' Nexu called out, 'a hell of a shot. But I'm afraid we won't be bothering with any of this dueling business.'

Kyle didn't bother responding, making sure all his gear was ready for the coming battle. He was expecting a platoon of elite soldiers. He _wasn't_ expecting Nexu to _meow_.

At that instant, a quartet of identically armored troopers popped out of various corners, weapons ready and armed. Oh. Wow. The self-esteem team was here. It was too much. This was just too much. Kyle couldn't hold his laughter back.

'Pfffthahahahahahaha!'

Taken aback, the mercenaries all gave one another a look of confusion.

'What? W-what are you laughing about?' the Nexu commander demanded, his voice cracking slightly.

'Are you-are you serious right now?' Kyle wheezed in between bouts of laughter. 'Your backup call is you meowing like a kitty?'

'Hey! We worked hard on that routine!' yelled one merc.

'Th-the nexu is a fearsome predator!' another insisted.

Kyle burst into full-blown hysterics. 'Sweet bacon-flavored Force, you _practiced_ your meowing? How sad could you guys be? Nexu? You guys aren't nexu! You're goddamn _pussies_!'

'Oh, that was just _uncalled for_!' yelled one of the Mandos.

It was almost too hard for Kyle to unclip a flashbang from his belt. Somehow, he managed to calm down enough to pull the pin and lob it out from cover. Drawing his combat blade and pistol, the Jedi darted out, disarming the closest gunman and jamming his blade into the trooper's jetpack, disabling it before kneeing the poor bastard in the groin. He followed up with a kick to the gut that sent the mook towards his shotgun-toting buddy, knocking both flat. He took both of them down with a pair of well-aimed blaster shots. Before the other three could draw a bead on him, Kyle threw his vibroknife, lodging the blade in the power feed of the second rifleman's weapon before vaulting over a wall to drop-kick the second scattergun guy. Then he elbowed the back of the rifleman's leg, knocking him off balance. Kyle rose and yanked the rifleman to the right, forcing the merc to take a blaster bolt to the chest. Using the Force to retrieve his knife, he shoulder-charged the Nexu commander, knocking him flat. The Mandalorian tried raising his pistol to fire, but all he received was a click. He tried again. Click.

'What-'

Kyle shot the guy's arm and kicked the jammed blaster away.

'That stance...that _gun_! You're-'

'Mmhm,' Kyle confirmed. 'But seriously, man. _Those_ blasters? _Twirling_ those shitpiles when they already have a loose energy cell chamber? You were asking to have your gun jam on you. You just aren't cut out for those. You tried twisting your elbow to absorb the recoil. That's something you do on a Westar-34.'

Incensed that he was taking advice from a foe, the Nexu commander roared, 'Filthy Jedi dog!'

He drew a vibroblade of his own and charged Kyle, only for the Jedi to twist his arm and knock him flat again.

'Seriously, kid, don't try so hard,' Kyle continued.

The Nexu commander turned over on his back, laughing to himself. 'You're pretty good,' he said.

Kyle shrugged. Then he knocked the poor idiot unconscious, took one of the rifles and all the spare power packs he could carry, and looted their code cylinders, running into the jungle before the rest of Firebase Charlie came to its senses and investigated the gunfire.

* * *

The Marksman sipped from a canteen as she set up her perch. It was an idea location-a tower with a good field of view over the clearing below, with little cover for attackers to use for stealth or an assault on the base. Good thing, too, because this was the entrance to the tunnel that led into the main power station for the shield generator. The man who had taken out the Nexu Unit was coming. She grinned wolfishly as she unpacked her prized long rifle, disassembling it with a lover's touch and cleaning every component by hand.

It was a good rifle and it had served her faithfully through all her years. It had a custom stock crafted to fit her cheek perfectly. The energy cell feeding system was polished to a mirror sheen, the barrel was reinforced, and the interlock with the frame was tightened for improved precision. The sight system was a tri-light unit with settings for thermal, low-light, and infrared. Its trigger was long with non-slip grooves, with a pull adjusted to be slightly less than standard in case she needed to fire quickly. The trigger guard was filed down for a higher grip. The front strap part of the grip was checkered to help it dig into the hand, preventing slipping. Its vents and heatsinks were custom-built to accommodate high-yield charge packs. It also had an enlarged Tibanna load to reduce the need for reloading, a counterweight in the stock for easier handling, and a kitchen sink.

There was no mistaking it. Her gun was a tool for professionals. The kind who are polite and keep plans to kill everyone they meet. It had taken years to mod the old gun, but sniping was a good job. Out of doors, challenging work, and she never went hungry because as long as there were two people left in this galaxy, someone was going to want someone dead. Her parents didn't care for it, though.

The sound of an engine interrupted her reverie, and she stopped with the cleaning brush halfway down the barrel. It turned out to be nothing. Just another truck bringing in the daily supply of foodstuffs.

* * *

Kyle Katarn sat quietly in his cardboard box, waiting out the ride as the supply truck pulled into the Maw base. It was a comfy cardboard box. It made him feel safe and whole. As always, he had his pistol and knife ready as the truck slowed to a halt. Eventually a pair of troopers stepped inside the truck's cargo compartment and began unloading. He'd done his scouting already. The unloading area was well out of the sniper tower's line of sight, situated comfortably behind a barracks. Slowly, the other boxes were unloaded. Then one of the troopers came in and scratched his head.

'Hey, one of the boxes is upside-down,' he said. 'And it's open. What are these supply and logistics jokers doing?'

He lifted the box, only to find that it was empty. 'Idiots,' the trooper said.

At that moment, in the opposite corner, Kyle Katarn sprang from his box and planted a suppressed shot in the trooper's head, killing him instantly. Then Kyle used the Force to pull his partner into the truck and snapped his neck. After sticking the corpses inside a couple of the larger boxes, Kyle fished a single-shot rocket launcher from underneath a pile of empty boxes. Reaching out through the Force once again, Kyle channeled power into his senses, scanning for nearby hostiles. All clear. Cautiously, he dropped out from the truck bed and stepped out of cover, taking aim at the sniper tower.

So much for that sniper duel.

The base was soon under full emergency conditions as the garrison leaped into action. Its job done, the rocket launcher was discarded and Kyle disappeared into the facility.

* * *

'HE'S IN THE VENTS! HE'S IN THE VE-hurk!'

The stormtroopers of Fireteam Sigma stopped in their tracks as they heard the death of another one of their comrades. Who was this guy? Ever since the base's sniper roost had been blown to bits, they'd lost troops at a steady, terrifyingly quick rate. Always, they would arrive too late to the scene of an attack. Always, they would find another of their fellows lying dead in a back corner.

They continued cautiously with their search, checking rooms and keeping an eye on the ceiling vents as they went. Every room they searched came up empty. Fingers tensed on triggers as their nerves became more and more frayed. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. It was only a matter of time before he found them and killed them a-

'Hold up,' said the sergeant, 'do you guys hear that?'

It was faint, but the sound was definitely there. A sort of shuffling, bumping sound up above. The vents. They had him.

At that exact moment, Kyle Katarn released his Force grip on the rock he'd stuck in the air vents and eased open the door of the locker in which he was hiding. Four shots, four kills.

Textbook.

Stepping over the bodies, Kyle kept his weapons ready as he approached the doors main lift that led into the access tunnels. Based on the blueprints he'd stolen, the room beyond the massive double doors would be massive and well-lit. Cover and shadows would be hard to find. He holstered his pistol and knife and readied his lightsaber as he hit the button to open the doors.

The room beyond was a massive loading and unloading area, originally meant to house shipments of supplies and gear that traveled to and from the outer Maw bases to the central base that protected the power plant. Utility speeders and cargo walkers could travel through here with ease during peak hours. Now, however, it was empty and bare. Kyle stepped cautiously into the cavernous chamber, scanning for targets. He kept seeing things out of the corner of his eye-a flicker of movement here or there, perhaps? Or maybe he was getting too paranoid. His footsteps seemed far too loud, even as he slowed his pace. Then he saw it. The flash of metal.

With a snap-hiss, Kyle ignited his lightsaber, turning aside the vibroblade aimed at his throat. Caught off-guard, the Jedi backtracked, fending off a flurry of blows from an assailant he could barely see as he tried to readjust his footing and stance. Who was this guy? _What_ was he fighting?

And then as suddenly as the blades came, the attacker faded away. In the blink of an eye, his shadowy foe had disappeared. A personal cloaking device, perhaps?

His reverie was interrupted when his foe spoke up. 'Oh, you're skilled, Jedi,' it rasped, 'very skilled. Better than the description the Boss gave me.'

'Taunting's not going to work on me, pal,' Kyle replied. 'I've got a whole lot of other asses to kick, so why don't you show yourself so I can plant my boot up yours?'

The attacker's laughter sounded like nails in a blender. 'We have a wise-ass here, don't we? Don't worry. You won't need that leg for much longer.'

Kyle pivoted right as he saw the glint of bared metal. With a proper stance and guard, he turned aside his enemy's attacks more easily this time, though his counter attack met nothing but air.

'You cannot kill the Hidden Sarlacc, Bearded One. _You_ are prey and _I_ am predator.'

Screw it. He didn't have time for this. Kyle unclipped a belt of frag grenades he'd looted along the way and scattered them with the Force, filling the air around him with shrapnel. With a hiss, Kyle's foe finally materialized, knocked flat by the blasts. Apparently, the shrapnel had also damaged his cloaking device. The assassin was lithe, whipcord thin, and fitted with an array of back-mounted cybernetic mechadendrites each tipped with a vibroblade. His regular old meat arms carried a vibroblade each, too. Before Kyle could administer a coup de grace via blaster, Hidden Sarlacc somersaulted away, dodging his gunfire with cybernetically-enhanced reflexes and leaping at him, blade tentacles swinging wildly.

Once more, Kyle channeled the Force through his body and senses, slowing his breathing and clearing his mind. Speed and reflex reigned supreme here. Kyle adopted the Djem So style, parrying and dodging Sarlacc's wild strikes. As he turned aside a blade, Kyle landed a vicious kick to Sarlacc's groin, stunning the mercenary long enough for the Jedi to slice off his left mechadendrites.

'Amazing,' Sarlacc said. 'That stance. Those skills. That _beard_. _These_ are the battles about which one waxes poetic.'

'You can wax on wax off all you like, pal,' Kyle said. 'I'm still _kicking your ass_.'

Sarlacc charged again, only to catch a punch to the throat. With a brief burst of will, Kyle followed up with a telekinetic punch before slicing off the other tentacles. Sarlacc darted away and tried charging from another angle, only for Kyle to catch him and hip-throw him. He stomped down on one of the vibroblades as the assassin tried to strike while prone, snapping the blade at the hilt. Rolling away, Sarlacc tried to take Kyle on with a single blade. Not many people were stupid enough to take on a Jedi Battlemaster in melee combat.

Kyle parried the assassin's clumsy strikes with a mixture of Makashi and Djem So, taking apart his defenses slowly with power attacks and rapid counter-strikes. And just for the hell of it, he threw in a dash of Ataru, knowing full well that this guy lacked the chops to counter the style's aggressive, acrobatic strikes. Eventually his sheer brute strength won out, snapping the last vibroblade in two with a hammer blow. Before Sarlacc could get philosophical about his defeat, Kyle beheaded him. He holstered his lightsaber with a flourish and double-tapped the body with his pistol just in case this guy had any cybernetic tricks up his sleeve. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and take inventory, then stepped onto the lift. A few taps on the control panel later and he descended into the abyss.

* * *

A platoon of stormtroopers awaited Kyle's arrival. Grenade launchers, rocket launchers, and E-webs were loaded and ready. They would spare no shot on wiping the Jedi off the face of the planet. He'd taken down some of the Mandalorians' best. Even with all their firepower, none of the stormtroopers expected to get out of here alive. They would die holding the line in the hopes of being the ones who killed the mighty Jedi Master. The grind of machinery became ever louder. Slowly, the elevator platform descended into view. They opened fire, foregoing precision and accuracy with sheer volume. A wall of rockets, grenades, and laser bolts met the elevator, blowing a crater in the wall behind. Five minutes of continuous fire later, the smoke cleared. The scorch mark was certainly massive, but no organic material showed up on sensors. Huh. Had they simply just vaporized him?

Hanging from a rappel line a few meters above the doorway to the tunnels, Kyle Katarn inverted and slowly lowered himself to a proper firing position. He preceded his entrance with a red carpet made of grenades, then picked off the survivors with a few shots from his blaster rifle. Bip, bap, bam.

He dropped down, confirmed his kills, and restocked on munitions, plucking a spare one-shot rocket launcher from a dead trooper. The tunnels were deserted for lack of decent cover, but he knew the Maw troops would be waiting above the next elevator. So he decided not to take the lift to the power plant. Instead, he flexed and stretched to prepare for his most formidable boss battle yet. The Ladder.

Rung upon rung, immeasurably high, and positively simmering with laddery malice, it led into the heart of the power plant to the shield generator. Kyle gritted his teeth, put on some music, and began his climb.

_What a thrill_

Okay, not too tough yet.

_With darkness and silence through the void_

Yep. So far, so good. Keep up a rhythm.

_What a thrill_

Still climbin'.

_I'm searching and I'll melt into you_

Still good! Still strong!

_What a fear in my heart_

Heart condition optimal! Woo! Come on!

_But you're so supreme!_

DOO DOO-DOO DOO DOO!

_I'D GIVE MY LIIIIIFE_

Oh yeah! Feel the burn!

_NOT FOR HONOR, BUT FOR YOOOOOOU (Krayt Eater)_

Taut, broad shoulders flexed as Kyle pulled himself up and up.

_In my time there'll be no one else_

Toned legs, firm buttocks, and mighty thews. Ladies, contain yourselves.

_Crime, it's the way I fly to you (Krayt Eater)_

Higher and higher!

_I'M STILL IN A DREEEEEAM, KRAAAAAYT EEEAAAATERRRR_

Oyah! Just another of Kyle Katarn's Krazy Fitness Sessions! This ladder wouldn't beat him!

_Someday you go through the rain,_

Ladders _suck_! Beard power!

_And someday you feed on an Ewok,_

Muscles! Manliness! More climbing!

_It's ordeal, the trial to survive_

He was too swole to stop now! Kyle Katarn is a climbing machine!

_For the day WE SEE NEW LIIIIIIIGHT_

Hrrrrrrgh! Even if there was no God or Force, believe in the Beard!

_I'D GIVE MY LIFE_

Getting a little winded, but no matter! This was _his_ ladder to conquer!

_NOT FOR HONOR, BUT FOR YOOOOOOU (Krayt Eater)_

Running low on manly stuff to say, but the Beardmaster doesn't need motivational crap to climb!

_In my time there'll be no one else_

Why was he doing this? He _enjoyed_ all the climbing, that's why.

_Crime, it's the way I fly to you (Krayt Eater)_

A bead of sweat ran down past the soaked bandanna, down Kyle Katarn's chiseled face, down his chiseled pecs, and further and further. Proof that his sweat was too _pussy_ to keep up the climb!

_I'm still in a dream, Krayt Eater_

_Almost _there! Beard's gotta keep going! Come on! Come on!

_I'm still in a dream, Krayt Eater_

With a roar of effort, Kyle threw an arm over the top of the ladder shaft and hauled himself upward. Glistening with manly sweat, the Bearded One got to his feet and drew his weapons, prepared for the next fool in his path. After that ladder, nothing could bring him down.

_(Kraaaayt Eaterrrrr...)_

_'OHOHOHO!_ WHAT WESA BE HAVIN' HERE?' boomed a voice.

Kyle grimaced and squinted at the next enemy in his path. Powerfully built with arms that could bench an AT-ST, the Gungan stood a full head taller than him, gripping a pair of ornate slings. On the Gungan's back sat a customized dual autoloader rig, designed to dispense Gungan sling grenades quickly. Kyle had heard of elite Gungan troopers wearing such harnesses and slinging bombs with an E-web's rate of fire. But those Gungans had only used one arm. Damn. This guy _lifted_. He _repulsorlifted_.

'WAHAHAHA!' the Gungan roared. 'DEYSA BE SENDIN' A TINY HUMAN TO BIG OL' ME? THESE ALLIANCE BOYS BE GETTIN' DESPERATE!'

The Gungan squatted and placed his hands on his knees, stomping with one foot and then the other. 'WESA GONNA FIGHT, LITTLE MAN? MESA GETTING BORED!'

Kyle Katarn blinked. 'I never knew how much I wanted this fight.'

'PUT ON YER FIGHTIN' PANTS, HUMAN!' bellowed Impact Bursa. 'WESA GON' MAKE DIS FIGHT ONE FOR DA HOLOS!'

Oh, _hell_ yes!

As Kyle dove for cover, the Gungan swung his slings to build momentum. Soon, they were little more than blurs as the Gungan threw impossibly quick bursts of grenades. Kyle kept on moving, never once slowing down lest he risk being caught in the grenades' blast radius. He popped a smoke grenade to give himself some breathing room and readied his looted rocket launcher. The Gungan's heavy footsteps shook the deck plating beneath, giving Kyle a good idea of his enemy's location. From behind the smoke, Kyle took aim and fired, planting a rocket in the Gungan's chest. His enemy's heavy armor took the brunt of the blow, but he definitely heard a grunt of pain. Ditching the now-useless rocket tube, Kyle readied his blaster rifle and ran for the next piece of cover as the Gungan retaliated with a blizzard of explosives. Kyle opened with a stun grenade, briefly disorienting the Gungan. He opened fire on full auto. As the Gungan regained his senses, he weathered the blaster fire and began slinging again.

Kyle tapped into the Force again, speeding his perception of time. With a few minute movements, he managed to shoot the closest grenades out of the air, opening up a window for him to duck behind a pile of durasteel crates to reload. The Gungan's armor was too thick. He would need to get creative. He holstered his rifle and drew his lightsaber. As the Gungan neared his position, Kyle used the Force to tap on a far wall. Turning to investigate the sound, the Gungan didn't see the Jedi as he sprinted from cover and threw his saber, the blade tearing a great gouge in the Gungan's ammunition pack. Though the cut was too shallow for the blade to set off the explosives stored inside, it opened up a weakpoint he could exploit.

'HA! YOUSA PRETTY GOOD, TINY MAN!'

Impact Bursa rounded on Kyle's last known position and pelted it with grenades. Sweet cream on an ice cream sandwich, did this guy's arms ever get tired?

Kyle drew his Bryar pistol. He was out of grenades and his rifle was running low. He needed his other hand free in case he had to put up a Force wall, too. He just had to get the Gungan to turn around and he knew the guy wouldn't fall for the Force tapping trick again. The Gungan came closer, his footsteps rumbling. Well, he thought, here goes nothing.

He sped out of cover, planting a blaster bolt in each of the Gungan's legs and dropping, sliding between the burly merc's legs. His knees slagged, the Gungan couldn't turn fast enough to engage Kyle. Perfect. Kyle got up and planted a blaster bolt right in the gouge his lightsaber had cut. The explosion turned Impact Bursa into a very unsightly and very awesome smear on the ground. Kyle gave the smear a brief salute. Godspeed, you glorious bastard. He was too cool to live.

* * *

Jan nearly fell out of her chair when the comm pinged.

'Jerec,' was all she heard.

She activated the _Raven's Claw_'s thrusters and lifted off from the jungle clearing she'd been using as cover. Either Kyle was in trouble or his mission was done. Either way, she set the throttle to full and sped towards the Jedi Master's transponder signal.

* * *

Kyle had finished setting up the demo charges on the power plant's support beams and activating the self-destruct sequence on the master control panel. It was going to be overkill, but it was better to overdo this sort of thing than to leave it medium rare. As he rode the lift to the power plant's roof, he drew his lightsaber. Knowing Daala, she probably had one last trick up her sleeve waiting on the landing pad.

Ding ding ding, roof level. Sporting goods, lingerie, and one very angry Mandalorian.

And not just any Mandalorian. _The_ Mandalorian. Heavily modded over the years, the beskar suit had deviated far from the design of its previous bearer. But there was no mistaking the paint job or the classic T-visor.

'Fett-man,' Kyle greeted, 'why am I not surprised?'

'The Admiral called,' Boba Fett replied, 'and we answered. And you know I can't pass up the chance to add another lightsaber to my trophy belt.'

Kyle raised an eyebrow. 'Well, you're too late. I just activated the self-destruct and a whole lot of timed charges.'

'I know,' Fett said, 'but ten minutes is enough for our purposes.'

'I don't suppose we could put this off until some other, less insane time, could we?'

Fett shook his head. 'There's no better time, Katarn. One must die and one must live. It's destiny, meeting you here.'

'What are you saying?'

'I'm getting old,' the Clone said simply. 'Both of us are. And I'm not going to go gently into that good night. War's too much in my blood, Katarn. I need this fight, just as much as you do. The one who survives will inherit the title of Mandalore, and the one who inherits the title of Mandalore will face an existence of endless battle.'

'Sounds like my weekends,' Kyle said. There wasn't any other way to do this. So screw it. He ignited his lightsaber. 'Alright. Let's dance.'


	33. 32: Hammer to Fall

32

Hammer to Fall

Kyle Katarn hurled himself behind an exhaust vent as Boba Fett opened up on full auto. He was out of ammo and, barring his nearly empty blasters, had few options to counter at range without the Force. Blaster bolts peppered the concrete where he'd once stood before tracking to his position. No doubt, the Mandalorian was keeping him suppressed to maneuver to a better firing position. Despite his exhaustion, Kyle called upon the Force once more, channeling it into a great leap towards where he thought the Mandalorian was running. He was right on the money.

Fett jumped out of the way before Kyle could land. He fired hastily from the hip, only for Kyle to deflect the blaster bolts away with his lightsaber. One of the bolts clipped Fett in the knee. He dropped, taking a vicious kick to the chest as a follow-up. The Mandalorian barely rolled away in time, his rifle's barrel and power feed sliced away by the lightsaber. Fett turned aside another hammer blow with his crushgaunts, kicking the Jedi away and gunning his jetpack to put some distance between them. Even with all his skills, Fett knew that engaging an armed Jedi at close range was suicide. He fired his wrist-launcher, sending a trio of missiles right into the ground at Kyle's feet. Fett kept his jetpack active, hovering around to get a better view of the damage. Thermals showed nothing-the heat of the smoke concealed body heat signatures.

His surveillance was short-lived, however. Caught in a Force-induced whirlwind, Fett lost control of his jetpack, crashing hard into the power plant's roof as he tried to steer. The impact ruined his jetpack, rendering it inoperative. He rose to his feet, punching the harness release to drop the dead weight as Kyle bore down on him again. Fett backtracked and pivoted to adjust his footing, the saber tearing a gouge into his pauldron. Fett caught Kyle's backswing on his left vamblade. He tried a right hook, only for Kyle to catch _that_ with his off-hand. Then he headbutted the Jedi.

Taking a lump of Mandalorian iron to the face is an unpleasant experience, even for a Jedi battlemaster. Kyle stumbled back, dazed by the hit, and took a one-two vamblade punch to the gut. Fett's third strike took a split second too long, allowing the Jedi to parry with his lightsaber and drive an elbow into his neck. This time, Kyle took the offensive, coming at Fett with a flurry of rapid strikes. Despite the aid of his crushgaunts and his armor's servo-assisted movements, Fett simply couldn't keep up his defense. Eventually, full, proper blocks turned into clumsy parries, his arms slowly going numb from the sheer brute force of the Jedi's blows. More and more grazes and gouges accumulated on his armor and crushgaunts. The only thing that saved him was sheer luck. He ducked a horizontal slash and as Kyle attempted to pull through with a backswing, Fett tackled him.

Down on the ground, the two threw aside all pretense of finesse and technique, simply brawling it out. Somewhere in the scuffle, Kyle lost his grip on his lightsaber, resorting to his own bare fists. With a burst of Force-enhanced strength, he landed an open-palmed strike on Fett's visor, shattering the transparisteel. Disoriented and temporarily blinded, Fett never saw Kyle's knife coming. The Jedi rammed the vibroblade into the Mandalorian's armpit, eliciting a roar of pain and anger. Kyle took a punch to the face for his trouble and fell back, disengaging from the melee.

Boba Fett rose as well and the two paused to catch their breath. The Mandalorian was laughing quietly to himself as he got up.

'That's what I like to see,' Fett breathed. 'Is that all you've got, Katarn?'

Despite the situation, Kyle found himself chuckling as well. 'It's not over yet,' he said.

'Good,' Fett replied. 'I think it's time for us to settle this properly.'

As he spoke, Boba Fett stripped off his ruined armor and crushgaunts. They'd both used up every single weapon in their arsenals. Standing here, Kyle realized that Fett was just like him, trying to make history. Who was to judge the right from wrong? When their guard was down, they'd have both agreed that violence bred violence. And in the end, it had to be this way.

Boba Fett struck the first blow of the second round, landing trio of jabs on Kyle's face and torso. Kyle blocked the Mandalorian's next punch and kneed him in the stomach, uppercutting Fett as he doubled over from the blow. Fett grabbed his arm as Kyle tried to punch him again, turning the grab into a throw that knocked the Jedi on his back. Kyle rolled out of the way moments before Fett stomped down, elbowing the back of the Mandalorian's knee. Boba Fett stumbled and fell, and Kyle rose and put him into a chokehold. Rather than struggling to dislodge Kyle's arm, Fett elbowed him in the kidney. For a moment, Kyle's grip loosened. Fett elbowed him again and broke free, hurling a hasty punch that hit nothing but air as Kyle ducked, punching Fett in the stomach again.

By this point, both men were on their last legs. Fett leaned back against a wall, his breathing ragged, his face a mask of blood. He was old and Kyle hit like a freight train. Kyle propped himself up against the opposite wall, weakened by fatigue and the strain of excessive Force usage. Even as Fett echoed Kyle with, 'It's not over yet,' both knew that their fight was pretty damn close. A few minutes ago, the battle had been one between two legendary warriors, honed by decades of experience and battle. Now, they were just two old men, bruised and beaten down, aching from new wounds and old injuries. They closed in again.

For a few moments, neither could get a good hit in, each one reverting to a defensive style. Numb, battered arms blocked clumsy and poorly-aimed punches. Then they struck simultaneously, catching one another in a cross counter. Both fell back and dropped to their knees. Kyle was on the verge of unconsciousness, his ears ringing, his head light. He spat a wad of bloody phlegm on the ground. He was the first to get up. As Boba Fett tried to rise, Kyle drew upon one last reserve of energy and will and punched Boba Fett in the face with as much strength as he could muster. Fett didn't get up a second time.

The Mandalorian was laughing again as Kyle sat down beside him. His voice was a barely audible rasp. 'You're...pretty good.'

Minutes later, Kyle heard the roar of engines as the _Raven's Claw_ dropped out of space and settled to a hover. Her landing ramp was already down and her stealth systems were no doubt running hot. He was barely conscious when Jan found him. She retrieved the fallen lightsaber and put it in his hands.

'Kyle? Kyle, it's me,' she said. 'We have to go.'

'Jan. What took you so long?'

'Kept you waiting, huh? Come _on_, this place is going to blow any second.'

Kyle rose and stumbled into the courier ship, plopping down onto one of the passenger seats. The _Raven's Claw_ broke atmo a few minutes later, making for the comparative safety of space. Jan activated the ship's signal beacon, calling the allied fleets to their position. Their job was done. From a viewport, Kyle watched the power plant explode. He thought he saw a _Firespray_-class silhouette pulling away from the explosion, but in his current state, it was too hard to tell.

* * *

Seconds later, the space around Daala's stronghold was filled with Alliance and Imperial starships.

'All units,' Pellaeon said, 'engage the enemy at will. All Star Destroyers, we'll get into knife fight range. Everyone else, maintain your distance and stay out of the hypervelocity guns' line of fire.'

_Bloodfin_ formed the tip of the Empire's spear, weapon systems blazing as she swept aside the Maw's smaller escort ships. Dozens of fighters emerged from her hangars, surging forth to engage the enemy's own fighter screens and harass the Maw's capital vessels. At the same time, _Mon Karren_ and the _Tiger Claw_ dropped out of hyperspace, leading their own fleets into the Maw Irregular Fleet's flanks. Rogue, Polearm, and Nova Squadrons were repaired and rearmed, diving into the fray and eager to reunite with their home fleet.

Pellaeon watched the battle unfold via the hololith display on _Bloodfin_'s bridge, observing the intricate dance of friendly and enemy sensor icons. Daala's forces had the advantage in firepower, fortifications, and numbers, but Pellaeon knew that his and the Alliance's forces had better crews, better pilots, and better equipment. Other than the TIE Hunters and Spectres, Daala's fighter squadrons left much to be desired, and the Admiral herself was no savant when it came to starship command. The enemy capital ships' sensor signatures returned names like _Red Wake_ and _Scorpio_-the names of starships whose crews, even at the Empire's height, were unremarkable at best. One name piqued his interest, however. _Holy Diver, _an ImpStar Deuce that kept close to the Super Star Destroyer. A second scan by _Bloodfin_'s sensor officer confirmed the callsign.

Curious. _Holy Diver_ had indeed been the name of an ImpStar Deuce from the old Empire, but that Star Destroyer had died long ago in a forlorn region of the Unknown Regions called the Midnight Sea. The name had never been reinstated according to both Imperial and Kuat Drive Yards records.

'Run another scan,' he ordered.

'Sir?'

'Another scan. That Star Destroyer isn't _Holy Diver_. Check for jamming or a secondary layer of code.'

'On it, sir, but it'll take a while to clean up the signal.'

'Do it. We're not going anywhere for a while,' Pellaeon said. 'As soon as we're within one kilometer of the Super Star Destroyer, launch the mole miners.'

He paused for a second to consider his orders. 'Actually, check my last. Keep half of _Bloodfin_'s mole miners in reserve.'

* * *

Wedge vaped a pair of TIEs as they turned to engage a fighter from Anvil Squadron, sending a quad-linked shot through each of the ball cockpits.

'Dammit,' cursed one of the Maw pilots, 'this guy's too fast!'

'Two more of our fighters just went down! Who the hell did that?'

'The guy with the infinity ribbon! It's Antilles!'

Switching targets, he banked and climbed, firing a snap-shot that punched into the cockpit of a Scyk Interceptor. He dodged the burning debris and dumb-fired a pair of proton torpedoes into the bridge of a CR92. As the torps took out the hammerhead section's shields, Tycho decapitated the corvette with a torp shot of his own before forming back up on Wedge's wing.

Red Flight cut a bloody swathe through the Maw's fighter screen, vaping dozens of enemy fighters and clearing the way for the allied forces' strike fighters. Wedge and Tycho did that voodoo they did so well, annihilating squadrons of enemy starfighters while Wes and Hobbie stitched laser and torp fire into the enemy capital ships' point-defense cannons and turbolasers. Then there was Luke, pushing his X-wing to its limits as he flew across the furball, fighting fires and plugging holes in the Alliance fighter screen's defenses. Only the Rogues and 181st could manage to keep up with Red Flight's kill count

Closer toward the planet, Rogue Squadron danced with the fighters protecting the Star Destroyer, _Sagittarius. _This time, however, the Rogues didn't fight alone. They had a whole fleet at their backs and squadrons of allied fighters at their side. They dove in guns blazing. Syal was in no mood for playing games. She wrenched her X-wing into a hard turn, planting a shot into an enemy TIE's engines. The interceptor exploded in an oily fireball. She broke off and reacquired, pushing the limit as she chased and vaped a pair of R-41 Starchasers.

'Damn, these guys are good!' said one of the Alliance pilots.

'That's Rogue Squadron, nugget,' said the leader of Wizard Squadron. 'Watch and learn.'

An enemy Dunelizard tried chasing Syal, only for her to turn the tables by cutting throttle and scissoring into the enemy pilot's flight path. She put the bastard out of his misery a second later, sniping the canopy and finishing it off with a shot to the engines. The rest of the Rogues were at the top of their game as well, swooping in and out of the furball, reaping a death toll that piled up with each passing second.

'It's useless!' yelled one of the Maw pilots. 'I'm not getting paid enough to fight Rogue Squadron!'

'Kovar Three, get back in formation! Kovar Three! Stand and fight, damn you!'

The Maw commander's orders fell on deaf ears. Their morale broken, entire squadrons of mercenaries and pirates turned tail and ran or broadcast their surrender, leaving only the Maw loyalists and the last of Boba Fett's mercenaries.

Syal keyed her comm unit, her tones glacially calm. She opened a channel to one of the B-wing units nearby. 'Paladin Squadron, the enemy's broken formation. Rogue Squadron will handle the anti-fighter quad turrets. Engage _Sagittarius_ at your leisure.'

* * *

Aboard _War Hammer_, Daala watched the battle with growing frustration. Though she had bloodied the Alliance and Imperial fleets, most of her ships' kills had been frigates, corvettes, and smaller cruisers. Reluctant to engage in friendly fire, her Star Destroyers had hesitated when the enemy's own ships had pushed into her carefully arranged formation. And now, _Sagittarius_ was beset by locusts, bleeding from numerous torpedo impacts and laser wounds.

'Comms, contact our forces on the planet's surface. One burst round volley targeted at _Sagittarius_.'

'Aye, Admiral,' said the bridge officer.

'Weapons, target the Imperial Interd-'

Before she could finish relaying orders, however, _War Hammer_'s proximity alarms blared.

'Multiple unknown signatures coming from the Imperial ships' launch bays!'

'What do you mean, "unknown"?' Daala asked icily.

'Their silhouettes don't register on our archives, ma'am,' replied the sensor officer.

Before Daala could figure out what was going on, the floor shook as the first of the mole miners made contact.

* * *

Mara blasted a pair of stormtroopers off their feet with a scattergun as she disembarked from her team's mole miner.

'Knock knock,' she said.

Behind her, Ben and the Wraiths dropped down and spread out, laying down cover fire to keep the enemy troopers' heads down. One tried getting brave and poked his head out of cover, only to get it blown off later as Wran Narcassan put his sniper rifle to use. Unfortunately for the enemy troops, their cover wasn't exactly secure. With the Force, Mara hurled shipping crates and utility speeders out of the way, flattening some and leaving the rest out in the open. A few shots later and their landing site was secure.

The Wraiths had landed in a storage bay, mostly empty save for the corpses and the bits and bobs Mara had scattered. They moved out, Ben and Mara taking point with Piggy right behind, hefting the Wraiths' support gun. It was a cut-down E-web, rigged up with a shoulder strap, counterweights, and backpack power supply. Trey had gushed about the modifications he'd had to make and Piggy had to admit, he liked the gun. It wasn't an X-wing's laser cannon, but it would suffice.

'So, Ben,' Mara said. 'Question for you.'

'Shoot.'

'Vestara Khai. Are you two, uh, a thing? You still chasing after her?'

'Wait, what?' Ben asked incredulously. 'Mom, is now really the time?'

'Young man, I have been _dead_ for five years. I am well past overdue on my child embarrassment quota. Humor me.'

Ben sighed in exasperation. 'No, mother. I kind of got tired of the teamkilly backstabby after the last time.'

'Oh. Good.' Mara breathed a sigh of relief. 'You deserve better.'

'He's single? Woo woo!' Jesmin called out from the back of the formation. 'Damn, Ben, you _fine_!'

The rest of the Wraiths snickered.

'_So_ fine,' Huhunna agreed. 'I'd cuddle him like only a Wookiee could.'

'Mmm, that _ass_!' Myri said. 'You can be my pointman any day, Mime Boy!'

The snickering nearly broke out into full-blown laughter from all the ribbing. It was a good thing Ben was up front. Otherwise, the others would have seen that his face had turned even redder than his mother's hair. 'I hate you all.'

'Yub yub, Mime Boy,' Myri purred.

* * *

For a brief moment, Syal was completely blind as _Sagittarius_ exploded with the might of a caged star. Suddenly, it was gone, little more than a cloud of debris. Surely Paladin Squadron hadn't done that much damage. Her sensors were completely on the fritz, a mess of static and noise from the interference of the explosion. Her shields were out and numerous minor systems had burned out from the heat of the explosion.

'Spark, what the hell just happened?'

'A SURFACE-TO-ORBIT WEAPON, UNKNOWN CLASSIFICATION. IT APPEARS TO BE THE RESULT OF EITHER AN EXTREMELY HIGH-YIELD PROTON WARHEAD OR NUMEROUS PROTON SUBMUNITIONS. I AM ALMOST CERTAIN IT WAS FIRED FROM THE ENEMY HYPERVELOCITY GUN ARRAY.'

'Shit,' Syal said, circling the wreckage. Her comms were a mess of panic and uncertainty.

'-anyone see Paladin Eight?'

'Half the squad just got taken out!'

'Lead is gone, I say again, Lead is _gone_! Confirm our chain of comma-'

She shut them all out and switched to the squadron frequency. 'Rogues, check in.'

Syal received seven responses. One Flight, Two Flight, and a comm-tap from Ten. Ninety was absent from the fight due to a lack of spare droid bodies.

'Eleven, Twelve, you out there? Come in,' Syal said. 'Respond.'

Nothing.

Bulsara merely sighed. Three Flight had been finishing up an attack run, pulling up and away from the Star Destroyer when the enemy weapon fired. No comm signals, no sensor signatures, not even the sight of an X-wing silhouette or any debris. Syal did a flyby of Bulsara's starfighter. His port engines were inactive and the armor beneath his canopy was hit with shrapnel scarring.

'Ten, pull back to the _Tiger Claw_. See if you can switch out for a spare X-wing. The rest of you, form up.'

* * *

The Wraiths and other boarding teams had blasted a long and bloody path to the Admiral's command tower. For all her faults, Daala was a damn good infantry commander. She'd delegated the command of the space battle to the Super Star Destroyer's captain and taken the reins of the ship's marines, overseeing the establishment of chokepoints, ambushes, and kill-zones. Several of the Alliance and Imperial boarding teams had been slaughtered after running right into the defenders' lines of fire.

Then again, most of those boarding teams didn't have Jedi. Ben and Mara led the way for Wraith Squadron, tearing into the Maw forces' defenses with sabers, blasters, and grenades. With the Force as their ally, the two easily rooted out ambush teams hiding behind false bulkheads and within the ship's labyrinthine maintenance corridors. In fact, they had gone so far ahead of the other units that they'd been cut off from the rest of the allied troops.

They were too far ahead now to double back. They pushed on, ascending to the command tower with the aim of capturing Daala and forcing a surrender before she escaped. Of course, that would be easier said than done.

As the Wraiths stacked up on the blast door, Mara held her hand up, signalling a halt.

'Something up?' Piggy asked.

'I'm sensing something on the other side of this door,' Mara said. 'Bad stuff. If you have sonics or concussion weapons, now's the time to ready them.'

Trey held up a hand as he fiddled with the door control panel. He'd sliced into its security systems. Three, two, one.

With a hiss of hydraulics, the blast doors slid open. In the center of the bridge stood Lord Calphayus. In place of his old Dread Master mask, he'd donned an old stone mask, given to him by Admiral Daala. Cracked, chipped, its paint faded, it still radiated an alien malevolence. The entire bridge crew had already been drained of life, their energies feeding the Dread Master's now insatiable hunger as lightning arced between his fingertips. He no longer seemed human, twitching unnaturally, hunched over and haggard. The Mask of Darth Nihilus had already begun to feed on its host's physical body.

'Ah, visitors,' Calphayus rumbled. 'Unexpected, no? You came here expecting to find the Admiral, and instead, you find a _god_.'

Mara, Ben, and the Wraiths opened up on full auto, not bothering with the small-talk. Unfortunately for them, Calphayus managed to tear a piece of bulkhead plating loose with the Force to use as a shield.

'Ha ha! I'm prepared for that now, fools! Oh, I am _so_ smart-'

Wran sniped him in the foot.

'_Son of a bith_!' he yelled, his concentration broken for the briefest moment. The metal sheet fell and the Wraiths opened fire again. This time, their shots struck home. They riddled Calphayus with laser bolts, concussion shots, and sonic blasts, leaving the Dread Master prone and smoldering. As Mara approached the body to administer a coup de grace, however, she heard the sound of a lightsaber ignition and ducked, just barely missing Calphayus' blade. The one they'd shot was an illusion, then, while the real Sith had used the Force to cloak himself. She was too close to the Sith to break out her lightsaber and swordfight, so she punched him in the dick instead. Then Ben used the Force to bash him with that loose bulkhead plate.

Calphayus reeled, stumbling back. He'd been smart enough to wear a codpiece but Mara hit even harder than Kyle Katarn when she was angry. Calphayus roared as he unleashed his newfound power on the Jedi, lightning streaming from his fingertips. Control panels across the bridge shorted out as sheets of lightning arced out. The Wraiths fell back as Ben and Mara caught the bolts with their lightsabers.

'Take the shot!' Trey hissed. 'What are you waiting for?'

'They're in the way,' the sniper complained. 'I can't line up a direct shot.'

'Dammit!' Scut said.

'I said _direct_,' Wran replied. 'If you can all shut up for a second, I think I'll be able to try something.'

Narcassan slowed his breathing and took aim again, snuggling his cheek up against his rifle's custom-built stock. He aimed for Mara's lightsaber and slowly, his finger squeezed down on the trigger. The bolt ricocheted off Mara's saber blade and into Calphayus' head, knocking the Dread Master senseless for a moment. More importantly, it knocked the mask off his head. Ben saw his opening and darted forth, yanking the mask away from the Sith.

Calphayus was dumbfounded at how easily the Alliance strike team had defeated him, even with the power of the artifact. Ben was _so_ goddamn smug.

'The next thing you're going to say is, "Impossible! I was supposed to be invincible!"'

'I-impossible!' Calphayus yelled, 'I was supposed to be invincible!...Wait, what?'

'And just to make things even better,' Ben said, 'I've been saving this little technique _just_ for this fight.'

'_What_ technique?' Calphayus asked.

'Yeah,' Mara said. 'What technique?'

'It's one that's been passed down my family for generations,' Ben said. 'One reserved for taking down Sith like you.'

He turned tail and ran off with the mask. Skywalker Family Secret Technique? Complete bullshit. Mara, Calphayus, and the Wraiths stood there in stunned silence for a moment.

'Well, _I_ didn't teach him that,' Mara said indignantly.

'A man after my own heart,' Myri said in a mock saccharine tone.

Mara stepped to the side, giving Calphayus the impression she was circling him. In truth, it was to give the Wraiths a proper line of fire. Piggy shrugged and opened fire with his E-web. The rest of the Wraiths followed suit. And this time, instead of a brief volley of auto fire, they emptied their magazines, reloaded, and fired again. Calphayus had come to the wrong neighborhood. And when that was done, Mara came over to Calphayus' smoldering corpse and emptied her blaster pistol into his head. And just to make _absolutely_ sure, they dismembered the body and set the bits on fire. They'd jettison the ashes into the nearest star later. When it came to Sith, there was no such thing as overkill.

Ben came back a moment later, having broken the mask in two. 'Just got back from the command tower hangar. Daala's escaped.'

'Where is she now?' Mara asked.

* * *

'Sir, I'm seeing five new sensor signatures. Small craft coming from the Super Star Destroyer's bridge tower.'

Pellaeon raised an eyebrow. 'Sensors, get me a reading on those craft. Identify them.'

It took a few seconds to match their silhouettes to the ship's archives. 'Four TIE Interceptors and a Lambda shuttle, sir. They're en route to the Star Destroyer broadcasting the false _Holy Diver_ code.'

'Just as I thought,' Pellaeon said. 'That ImpStar is _Chimaera_.'

The battle had swung in the allied forces' favor ever since they'd deployed the mole miners. Distracted by the task of repelling boarders, the Super Star Destroyer's crew hadn't been able to keep up the fight. Many of its weapon emplacements had fallen silent, leaving Daala's fleet without its heaviest hitter. Now _Chimaera_ would turn tail and run. They had to disable it before it escaped the reach of the fleet's Interdictor vessel. He ran the numbers in his head. _Bloodfin_ could catch _Chimaera_ if they gunned the engines _now_. She had a stronger, better-kept reactor and greater agility and acceleration. They'd have to immobilize _Chimaera_ quickly.

'Run _Chimaera_ down,' Pellaeon ordered. 'Daala must be stopped no matter the cost.'

Pellaeon had faith in his crew and ship. They wouldn't die. Not here, not today. He had the touch. He had the _power_.

_Bloodfin_ surged forth, an inexorable juggernaut that pushed aside the lesser craft in its way. It rammed a Maw Nebulon-B, splitting the frigate in two, and blew a trio of enemy corvettes out of the void with pinpoint turbolaser fire. With all hell broken loose, he was riding the eye of the storm. He hailed _Chimaera_ even as _Bloodfin_'s guns chewed into its rear shields.

'Pellaeon!' Daala exclaimed.

'One shall stand, one shall fall,' Pellaeon said grimly.

_Chimaera _turned, deciding this time to stand and fight her counterpart. They exchanged blows, lasers and ordnance launchers blazing.

'Why throw away your life so recklessly?'

'That's a question you ask yourself, Daala.'

_Bloodfin_ closed, opening up with a full broadside that drained _Chimaera_'s starboard shields. It was at that moment that _Bloodfin_ released her remaining mole miners.

* * *

Boss leaped from his squad's mole miner, driving his vamblade into an enemy Stormtrooper's throat. He turned, keeping the dead trooper up as a shield, and drew his pistol, dispatching the rest of the trooper's fireteam with well-placed headshots.

'Clear,' he said.

Sev, Scorch, and Fixer descended from the miner, blasters set to carbine configuration. Though the corridor in which they'd landed was clear, the soon heard the sound of footsteps. Motion trackers didn't show any friendly signatures inbound. Scorch stepped forward and took aim with his blaster's underslung grenade launcher. As the footsteps got louder, he poked his gun around the corner and blind-fired. One Stormtrooper's body flew forward, propelled by the blast. Another fireteam down. Delta Squad moved forward, taking a brief stop to double-tap the bodies.

'Stack up,' Boss said as the team came to a door. 'Breach followed by frags.'

Scorch prepped a breaching charge and set up a countdown timer. Three, two, one.

The doors blew inward, taking out one of the stormtroopers taking cover. A pair of frags tossed in after blew a Mandalorian merc out of cover. Sev finished him off with a shot through the visor.

Delta and the other Imperial commando teams blasted their way through _Chimaera_, cutting through the Maw's defenders with ease. Daala's Stormtroopers were easy pickings. They were poorly disciplined and trained compared to average Imperial troops, no match for the battle-hardened special forces they faced today. Fett's Mandalorian warriors were a cut above the rank and file, skilled and ferocious with a fanaticism that gave even the Deltas pause. When faced with grenades, the Mandalorians didn't break cover to retreat but to charge, blades bared and guns firing. They also took considerably more firepower to bring down than the Stormtroopers thanks to their heavy armor and seemingly supernatural resistance to pain.

The slog was long, bloody, and painful. By the time they'd reached the lift to the bridge, Fixer had taken an arm shot that left him unable to use anything but a pistol and grenades. Scorch's helmet had also taken a glancing hit that left him without HUD functionality. They'd been lucky, though. Iota Squad had been wiped out when a Mandalorian they'd thought was dead had detonated every single grenade on his kit. Zeta Squad ended up getting spaced after another merc decided it was better to blow up all of the demo charges he was carrying than dying to blaster fire. But they'd reached their objective. It was time for a reckoning.

* * *

Daala watched her two bodyguards approach the elevator. As they prepared to unload on the poor saps inside, the doors slid open. It was empty, save for the corpse of the Mandalorian commando in charge of the defense down below. The two bodyguards approached cautiously to inspect the body. Then they saw the timer on the present Scorch had left for them.

'Oh shit!' one yelled.

Suddenly, the world went white as two belts of stun and flash grenades detonated. Daala couldn't hear anything but the infernal ringing in her ears. Meanwhile, Delta Squad emerged from the second elevator, taking out the last few armed troops with ease before the disorienting effect wore off. As Daala reached for her service pistol, Boss grabbed her arm and twisted. She grunted in pain and dropped the gun. To her credit, she managed to break Boss' hold momentarily before Sev shot her in the face.

'What?' the sniper asked. 'It was set to stun this time.'


	34. 33: Don't Stop Me Now

33

Don't Stop Me Now

With the loss of the Dread Master's psychic grip over their minds, Daala's fleet died a slow death. Caught in the Imperial Interdictor's field of effect and immobilized by torpedo volleys to the engines, the Maw Irregular Fleet's defense became more and more disorganized, maddened and sickened by the withdrawal of Calphayus' influence. Some surrendered. Others went berserk, fighting to the bitter end.

Aboard the Super Star Destroyer, the Wraiths were in the process of adding more flammables to Calphayus' burning corpse parts when the ship's self-destruct warnings activated.

'Crap,' Piggy said. 'Trey, can you do anything from here?'

The Wraiths' tech specialist shook his head. 'Negative. The lightning fried pretty much every console on the bridge.'

'Well, that puts a damper on our plans,' Mara said, glancing at the fires. The flames licked at the Dread Master's robes and flesh, but they'd planned on adding more fuel and a healthy helping of explosives to make absolutely sure. 'Let's go. We'll just have to hope the explosion vaporizes this guy.'

* * *

Aboard _Bloodfin_, Pellaeon issued the order for all ships to withdraw, watching the surviving allied vessels turning away from the battle to escape the blast radius of the Super Star Destroyer's reactor detonation. When it did happen, it didn't disappoint. The great starship's power core exploded with the might of a caged star, annihilating everything nearby and temporarily blinding anyone who happened to be looking at it. He breathed a sigh of relief as the activity feed on his tactical display updated. All friendly units had escaped the blast alive, if not unscathed.

Eventually, the allied fleets gathered in the heavens above the planet, maintaining geostationary orbit above the side opposite that of the hypervelocity gun. This was it. The final push. A massive ground and air assault would be needed to destroy the hypervelocity gun array. Pellaeon keyed his command chair's comm unit.

'General Kasar,' he said, 'what's the status of our ground forces?'

'Packing in the last of the walkers now, sir,' the General replied.

'Good. Make sure Avalanche Force is prepped for a combat drop. You deploy within the hour.'

* * *

Aboard the _Tiger Claw_, the Rogues had reunited with their fellow Alliance pilots. The star cruiser's surviving fighter pilots gathered in the ship's main briefing room, fully aware that the end of their campaign was at hand. At the center of the room stood Jan Ors and Wedge Antilles. Kyle would have been present, but fatigue prevented him from incapacitating the doctors attending to his wounds.

Jan gestured to the hololith beside her, which displayed a hologram of the Maw forces' hypervelocity gun array, a ring of massive surface-to-orbit cannons capable of taking apart a Star Destroyer in minutes.

'As you can see,' Jan said, 'Daala's engineering department was headed by a man with a very small sausage. Master Katarn nabbed these schematics during his recent mission. The guns sit in the center of a multi-layered network of defenses. You name it, they have it. Anti-air batteries, starfighters, heavy artillery, walkers, tanks, infantry, earthworks. The guns themselves have heavy armor and a nasty fire and reload rate. They're resistant to orbital bombardment, and so, nearly immune to whatever weapons your fighters and the ground-pounders are packing. But as is the case with all Imperial designs, they have one fatal weakness.'

Jan fiddled with the hololith controls, switching the image from that of the hypervelocity cannon network to a labyrinthine network of tunnels and corridors beside an image of what appeared to be a heatsink.

'The guns' rate of fire builds up a lot of heat,' Jan said. 'Even keeping them charged and active has them running fairly hot. From what we've seen so far, there are two main cooling units hooked up to the hypervelocity guns' central power core.'

'Those heatsinks are priority targets,' Wedge said.

Commander Konnair raised her hand. 'Sir, this looks like something best left to ground troops. Where do we fit into this, aside from providing air cover? Can we take those out with bunker busters?'

Wedge shook his head. 'I'm afraid not. The heatsinks themselves are underneath several meters of concrete and durasteel armor. The tunnels themselves are massive and complicated. No ground force is going to be able to take out the heatsinks and get out alive before the entire place overheats and blows. The plan is to drop several commando teams near the gun network and have them open the blast doors within the tunnels. There are two main entrances into these tunnels that give us a direct route into the generator chamber, along with multiple branching paths that lead back outside.'

The Rogues' expressions displayed varying degrees of terror, from Beiner, who had turned deathly pale, to Syal, who looked like a little girl in a candy store.

Hobbie groaned and buried his face in his hands. 'Oh no. I see where he's going with this.'

'Yub yub, Major Klivian,' said Wes.

* * *

When the invasion force finally deployed, they did so at dusk, the landing craft and starfighter screens flying in with the sun at their backs. In the light of this forlorn system, they appeared as a golden host, sent from heaven itself to bring righteous fire upon the scum of the Maw. The fighters led the pack, with the Rogues forming the tip of one spear and the 181st on the other. It was a two-pronged assault, with the Alliance and Imperial forces taking on opposite flanks of the Maw Irregular Fleet's stronghold.

'All squadrons, check in,' Syal said.

'Red Flight, on your six,' Wedge replied.

'Polearm Squadron, ready.'

'Nova Squadron, fit for fight.'

They went down the checklist. Wizard, Sorceror, Paladin, High Flight, Razorback, Anvil, and Peregrine Squadrons had also been assigned to the task force-over one hundred starfighters in all. It was the largest force she'd ever commanded. Peregrine Squadron's leader pulled up alongside her X-wing. Unlike the others, it wasn't a starfighter but a freighter, heavily modified with a very familiar pattern of rust and faded paint.

'Hey kid,' Han said, 'good to see you're still kicking.'

Chewie roared in agreement. He was eager to down some TIEs and happy to finally be back in action. After his return from Sernpidal, he'd been kept out of action by mountains and mountains of paperwork-tax forms, mostly, as well as the matter of paying for the damage done during a celebratory bar fight involving him, Han, and Lando. Of course, he'd have been back earlier if he hadn't spent so much time complaining about taxes.

'Likewise, you two,' Syal replied. 'You guys ready for another furball?'

'You know it,' Han said.

'Alright,' Syal said, 'here we go. A-wings, push on ahead and engage the enemy at your leisure. X-wings and E-wings, spread out but maintain formation. B-wings, stay behind us and dive in where you see a hole in our screen. Acknowledge.'

She was greeted with a chorus of affirmatives. As they closed in, the Maw Fleet's last defenders awoke. The A-wings made contact with the enemy, and the final battle for the Maw Cluster had begun.

* * *

'Begin combat log: Action 1138ACZ, walker _Pater Mortis_. Commence walk.'

General Kasar watched the troops of Avalanche Force deploy in good order as their landing craft touched down. From his command AT-AT, he had a direct link to SWACS and orbital data feeds, granting him an unparalleled view of the battlefield. The AT-ATs made easy progress through the jungles, weapons tracking left and right in search of targets. Far ahead, AT-ST, pioneer, and scout trooper platoons got to work, scrubbing the forest floor of ambushes, mines, and other minor threats on the way to the Maw's fortress. TX-150A main battle tanks formed the flanks and the second line of the assault, followed finally by the AT-ATs and air transports carrying commando teams. In the skies above, a massive formation of TIEs provided air cover.

From the cockpit of _Pater Mortis_, Kasar and his crew were effectively gods of the ground war, clad in impregnable armor, their wrath as incandescent and lethal as the wrath of the late Lord Vader. With each step, the ground shook. The god-machine went to war, and alongside it strode three sister walkers, similarly armed and equally deadly. His walker platoon was one of the Empire's best and their crews were hand-picked from Bastion Military Academy's finest armor jocks. Within each walker waited forty members of the 308th Legion, solid first-string shock troopers who specialized in mechanized assault.

'Pillbox, four hundred meters, eleven o'clock,' Kasar said. 'Fire when ready.'

'Firing,' said the AT-AT gunner.

The walker's cockpit shook slightly as the massive chin-mounted cannons fired, pulverizing the enemy bunker. With its advanced stabilizers and optics, the AT-AT Block 50 had no trouble nailing targets while moving at full speed. They picked off Maw fortifications and armor as they went, blasting apart the outer ring of defenses around the hypervelocity gun. It was the latest production run to come out of Kuat Drive Yards, fitted with upgraded armor, sensors, weaponry, and leg flexibility. Vastly superior to the older models that walked Hoth, today's AT-ATs were far less vulnerable to neck shots and cocky airspeeder pilots. The Block 50 also mounted a topside SAM battery to keep enemy fighters away, plus an E-web mounted at either of the flank escape hatches to suppress foes while the troops rappelled down.

'Enemy tank platoon, five hundred meters, one o'clock,' Kasar said. 'Use the repeaters to keep their optics fouled.'

'Main guns firing,' the gunner said, vaping one of the tanks. As the heavy lasers recharged, he flicked the master arm switch and opened up with the head-mounted repeaters. 'Guns, guns, guns.'

A hail of laser bolts rained down on the Maw tank formation. Though they couldn't penetrate the armor of a main battle tank, the lasers themselves could keep their targeting scopes blinded. _Pater Mortis_ picked off two more of the tanks as it advanced then crushed the last one underneath its foot. Kasar's forces passed the first line of Maw defenses, the fortifications crushed and defenders little more than laser-riddled corpses. At this point, the jungle terrain gave way to the more urban interior of Daala's fortress. Avalanche Force readjusted into an urban combat formation without needing orders. They knew this song and dance well enough already.

_Pater Mortis'_ crew kept their heads on a swivel. In close quarters like these, anything could-

'Shit!' exclaimed the pilot, the walker shaking as a pair of high-powered laser bolts lanced out from behind a structure ruined by artillery. 'Fore starboard knee joint damaged!'

Immediately, the gunner put a retaliating shot through the building and sprayed suppressing fire with the repeaters as the pilot backed up.

'How badly?' Kasar asked.

'Minor, the armor took most of the hit. We won't be able to kneel for standard deployment, though.'

'We'll manage,' the general said. 'Keep up suppressing fire. All troops, prep for rapid deployment. Side hatches!'

_Pater Mortis_' flanks opened up. 308th Legion troopers dropped rappel lines, door gunners keeping watch for hostiles as their fellows roped down. At that moment, their assailant surged forth. It, too, was an AT-AT. The enemy walker strode through the rubble, ignoring the debris that rained down on it. It was an older model, but its guns and armor were equal to the Block 50 series. The only difference was in its somewhat obsolete electronics and surge protection. It fired again.

'Damage report!'

'The shot bounced! We're good!' the pilot yelled back.

'Target the cockpit slit. Order our infantry to load ion missiles and fire a volley on my mark.'

'Aye, sir!' replied the comms officer.

'Full speed, forward! Infantry, fire now!'

A number of missile trails lanced out from beneath the enemy walker's flanks. The shots were good. The enemy walker froze in place, weapons no longer tracking _Pater Mortis_ as its poorly protected electronics shorted out. Kasar's AT-AT pushed ahead and turned enough for its head to target the enemy walker's vulnerable neck.

'Take the bastard's head off,' the General ordered.

'Firing.'

A pair of heavy laser bolts decapitated the enemy AT-AT. Without its connection to the cockpit's control systems, the enemy walker tipped over, knocked off balance by the laser impact and ensuing explosion. Luckily, the 308th stormtroopers retreated in time to avoid being crushed. Kasar's gunner and pilot whooped and fist bumped.

'Well done, gentlemen,' Kasar said, breathing a sigh of relief. 'Comms, send my regards to the platoon leader.'

'Aye, sir.'

'Now, let's see what else we can kill.'

* * *

Wraith Squadron's transport settled to a stop above their drop point. Piggy reeled backward as laser fire peppered the top of the exit hatch. He gestured for the team to wait.

'Wraith Leader, we're over the DZ,' said the pilot. 'What's the hold-up?'

'We're taking too much heat here,' said Piggy. 'Give us a second.'

He turned to the Wraiths. 'Get a satchel. Everyone, put in a demo charge. Quickly, now.'

From the back, Trey took a bag of explosives from his shoulder and passed it forward, each member of the team contributing explosives to the load. When it finally reached Piggy, it carried enough ordnance to make the Tainer family proud. Piggy added his own demo charge, pulled the det tape, and lobbed it out. A few seconds later, the bombs detonated and the gunfire stopped. Piggy picked up the coiled rappel lines and threw them out, letting them unwind.

'Now!' he yelled, taking point and fast-roping onto their drop point. He rolled clear of the rope to make room for the others and raked the balcony overlooking their landing zone with suppressing fire. The rest of the team dropped down in pairs, until eventually all of them were on the ground.

'Advance, advance!' he ordered, keeping the others covered. As they all got under cover, Piggy pushed forward. Ben was their pointman once again, leading the Wraiths through the complex hallways of the hypervelocity gun complex, using the Force and a convenient map to guide their passage. As the Wraiths came up on a corner, Ben darted back into cover as a barrage of rapid laser fire perforated the space where he once stood.

'Crap,' he said, 'we need to find another way around.'

Mara shrugged, activated her lightsaber, and cut through the wall. It led directly into...a refresher room. While the Wraiths covered her, Mara kicked in each stall door one by one. Clear, clear, clear-

As she came up on the last door, she heard a man let out some horrible combination of sob, groan, and scream. It sounded like the most horrible torture imaginable had been visited upon this poor bastard. She kicked in the door and saw a stormtrooper doubled over in agony.

Mara blinked and paused, unsure what to do.

'Kill me! _Kill me!_' begged the trooper.

'MREs?' Mara asked.

'Yes,' the poor guy replied. 'Why does this always happen t-Wait, you're not with the Maw, are you?'

'Nnnnope,' Mara said.

The soldier drew his pistol. 'S-stop right there! I'm armed!'

'Yeah, you've definitely got some bio-weapon on you,' Mara replied. 'Also, the safety's still on.'

Confused, the stormtrooper took a peek at the side of his gun. Mara neutralized him with a simple CQC disarm followed up by a knockout punch. Poor guy.

Ben checked the opposite wall.

'Yep, they're right on the other side.'

He activated his saber and artfully set up a series of cuts in the wall before pushing with the Force. The rubble smashed into one trooper. Before the dust cleared, Ben was already running, diving in among the gun crew. His perception of time slowed and before the stormtroopers could turn to address the new threat, he carved them all up into tiny giblets.

'Dead-on,' he said.

'Show-off,' Myri muttered.

He stuck his tongue out at her. She did the same. Kids these days.

'Control room's through this door,' Ben said, gesturing for the double doors behind the dead gun crew.

'Alright, stack up,' Piggy replied. 'Let's get through this before the reinforcements come along. Huhunna, Sharr, pick up the E-web and power feed.'

Mara and Ben took their positions at opposite sides of the door. Mara sliced the control panel's security as Ben prepped a stun grenade. She raised three fingers and counted down. Three, two, one.

The doors slid open and Ben tossed the grenade in. There was a muffled crump and the two Jedi charged in, cutting up the defenders inside.

'Clear!' Mara yelled out.

The Wraiths came in and took up defensive positions, covering the three doors in the control chamber. Huhunna and Sharr set up their E-web to cover one side of the room while Piggy braced his gun on the other, setting up a crossfire. Wran set up shop in the rear, laying out spare barrels and magazines on the desk nest to him for easy access. Meanwhile, Trey got to work on the controls for the blast doors in their sector of the maintenance tunnels.

'Alright, the console's working,' he said. 'Good news and bad news.'

'Bad news first,' Piggy said.

'Bad news is, the Maw's security is damn good. I'm not going to be able to get past security discreetly. Too much finesse for my skill set. If I brute force it, it's going to set off alarms all over the place.'

'Good news?'

'I just saved fifteen percent on my speeder insurance by switching to Space GEICO.'

Mara tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to look, he saw that she wasn't in the mood for humor.

'Uh,' he said, 'also, we've tapped into a command center here instead of a regular door control station. I can access every single blast door this side of the core chamber.'

Piggy didn't even hesitate. 'Screw the alarm. Get those doors open.'

Trey took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. 'Yub yub, Commander.'

* * *

At the other command center, the battle was already underway. Delta Squad put up a stubborn defense as enemy troops rushed their position.

'Scorch, grenades on the center door!' Boss ordered.

Delta's demo trooper poked his head out of cover and took aim with a grenade launcher, firing a burst before dropping back into cover. Boss put a shot through the visor of a Mandalorian squad leader and fanned left, dropping another merc with three shots to the chest. Every few seconds, Sev sniped another priority target. He'd gotten his fire rate down to a rhythm, lancing squad leaders, support gunners, and special weapons bearers at a regular pace. Then his gun fell silent.

'Barrel change,' he said, 'ten seconds.'

The enemy chose the worst possible time to bring up a heavy.

'Flamethrower, twelve o'clock! Scorch, any more explosives?' Boss asked, plugging the stormtroopers moving to support the flamer. He tried shooting the flame trooper, only for the heavy armor to absorb his shots.

'Firing frag burst,' Scorch responded, hitting the flame trooper with a trio of grenades. Unfortunately, the armor was too heavy for the grenades to do much besides stun him.

'Do you have anything more powerful?'

'Negative,' Scorch said, falling back to reload. 'Used up all my plasma, cryo, and thermal det already!'

He'd put the explosives to good effect. The hallways outside were laced with the corpses of enemy troops and cratered by the strength of the blasts, but it seemed like the entire Maw Irregular Fleet was bearing down on them in sheer desperation.

'Weapon up,' Sev announced finally, taking aim.

The flame trooper took a knee and fired, loosing a stream of burning fuel that landed far too close to Fixer for comfort.

'Crap!' Fixer yelled, falling back and patting out the flames on his right leg armor. 'I can't keep these doors open without cover, guys!'

'Take the shot!' Boss ordered.

Sev complied, planting a sniper bolt through the flame trooper's knee. As the trooper dropped, his fuel tanks were exposed for a split second. That was all he needed. Sev pulled the trigger again, detonating the tanks and flattening the Maw troopers behind the unfortunate flamer.

'I love the smell of napalm in the morning,' Sev rumbled. 'Smells like victory.'

* * *

'Incoming at high speed!' yelled someone from Peregrine Squadron.

'Break!' Syal said on reflex.

The Alliance fighters broke formation, spreading out as a hypervelocity burst round detonated nearby. It was lucky that someone had detected the shot so quickly. Of the pilots the gun network had targeted, only six had been downed.

'That thing can hit planetary targets?' asked a High Flight pilot incredulously.

'Change of plans,' Syal said. 'B-wings, forget the ground targets and aim for the hypervelocity guns. Focus on slagging the barrels and aiming mechanisms. We can't destroy them, but we sure as hell can inconvenience them. E-wings, the ground targets are yours. X-wings, cover the B-wings.'

The E-wings sped ahead, swooping low as the Rogues formed up with Nova Squadron. Lines of explosions along the jungle treetops marked the death sites of enemy SAM batteries and AA guns as the E-wings switched to a strike role.

'Nova Twelve here, I'm detecting new hostile signatures at our twelve. They're fuzzy, but I've got...nine? Nine TIE silhouettes. They're jamming us.'

'Omega Squadron,' Beiner said.

'Time for some payback,' Vigil said grimly.

'Nova to Rogues, we can handle the ground strike from here. Those TIEs will take us apart, though.'

'No worries, Nova,' Syal replied. 'They're ours.'

Nine TIE Spectres. Aresh hadn't gone gently into that good night. This was it. The battle that would decide which squadron was superior. Were Syal's Rogues worthy successors of the name? She hoped her old friend was watching over them.

'It's time,' Omega Leader said. 'Ravens of the Alliance, your end is nigh.'

'We will restore the true Empire to its rightful place!' said another Omega pilot.

Syal answered with a trio of torpedoes, rolling to avoid their return shots. The torpedoes missed, but they disrupted the Omegas' formation. As the two squadrons closed to laser range, Syal switched to lasers and fired, scoring a glancing hit on Omega Leader's shields.

'Pupils of Antilles,' said an Omega pilot, 'we will be the ones to usher you through the gates of hell.'

The fighters began their dance, lasers and missile contrails criss-crossing the skies above the cannon network.

'Shit, these guys are good!' Beiner said.

'Stay cool, Four,' Windspeaker said, 'Keep calm and we'll get through this.'

Syal dove and wove as a pair of TIEs chased her fighter.

'Focus on Rogue Leader. Take her out and the rest of the formation falls apart. We've all studied Alliance fighter tactics. You know how to kill her.'

Gritting her teeth, Syal wrenched her fighter into a hard turn as lasers tagged her rear shields. Omega Leader was right. If she kept flying and thinking like an X-wing jock, she'd be dead meat. But Uncle Tycho hadn't taught her to fly only as an Alliance pilot. She knew a thing or two about flying TIEs. It was about pushing your craft to the absolute limit, relying far more on twitch reflexes and instinct than the less maneuverable X-wing. Syal cleared her mind and focused entirely on her fighter. She knew the old girl's capabilities and quirks well enough by now. Syal knew the laser flash that indicated a misaligned cannon and the engine noise that heralded a flameout. She knew when the targeting computer simply hadn't reacted quickly enough to lock and which points of penetration indicated a slagged shield generator. Her starfighter wasn't just a starfighter. It was an extension of her own will and body. Syal settled into her seat and let the fighter do what came naturally.

Syal sideslipped, cut the throttle, and turned hard before rolling and scissoring into her pursuers' path. Her trigger finger flexed, her quad-blast penetrating a TIE's wing panel and cockpit.

'What?' Omega Leader said.

Syal zoomed past and turned again as the other Omegas tried to go for another head-to-head. Ignoring the hull stress warnings, Syal yanked hard on the stick, out-turning one of the Omega TIEs.

'She's on my tail!' yelled the pilot. 'I can't shake her!'

'Stand by, Four,' said Omega Leader. 'We'll be right th-'

Syal pulled the trigger, compromising the Spectre's engine integrity. The cockpit interior caught fire. It wasn't a kill so much as a perfectly arranged execution. She broke away and went on to engage the other fighters.

* * *

'Heaven's Eye to all units, we have multiple unknown objects incoming at high sp-'

Whatever else Heaven's Eye had to say was drowned out by dozens upon dozens of target lock warnings. Missiles. A whole lot of them.

'Break! Break!' Phennir exclaimed.

The 181st's TIEs broke formation as a swarm of concussion missiles closed in. Too many. Far too many for them to dodge. On Fel's display, friendly icons winked out of existence one after another. He slipped and wove through the incoming fire, searching for the unknown assailant. Where was he? Where was the bandit? Fel tabbed through his targeting computer, filtering out ground-based targets and hunting for the enemy that had shot down so many of his men. Alpha Squadron had lost three of its Defenders from the barrage, bringing unit strength down to nine.

'181st, status check!'

'Beta, half-strength,' Phennir said.

'Gamma, seven active,' replied Stele a moment later. 'Heaven's Eye, do you see the bandit?'

'We've glassed them,' Heaven's Eye said. 'Multiple TIE Hunters plus an unknown silhouette. Sending you a visual link.'

A moment later, Fel saw a monochrome camera feed in his display. Numerous TIE Hunters, plus something that looked straight out of Cygnus' R&amp;D department.

'One-Eight-One Gamma to Heaven's Eye. I know what it is. That's a Missile Boat.'

'Alpha to Gamma, are you sure?'

'Almost certain. Looks a bit more streamlined and modern than the original prototypes, but there's no mistaking it. If you need another hint, there's all the XRCMs.'

Indeed, it was a Missile Boat, slimmer and curvier but nevertheless much the same as the death gods of old. Ludicrously expensive and rare, it was widely believed that all of the models that existed had been scrapped or mothballed by the Empire. This one was either a brand new prototype or one of the other test models of the program. In addition to the frontal ordnance launchers, it appeared to possess additional missile pods mounted dorsally and ventrally, and those were almost certainly capable of omni-directional targeting. There appeared to be a few other bits and bobs here and there, but neither Fel nor Stele could discern what purposes they served yet.

'Heaven's Eye to 181st, all fighter units are unavailable at this time. Your unit's the only one capable of intercepting.'

'On it, Eye. Fel to all 181st units, hit the Hunters. The flying money sink is mine.'

Fel cut his comm feed and targeted the Missile Boat. Ever the loyal wingman, ST-166 remained behind him despite Fel's orders. 'That includes you, Alpha 2. Back up Beta and Gamma.'

There was a pause before Fel's Wrath complied with a double comm-click. His TIE Defender pulled away and climbed to form up on a Gamma Squadron TIE who was flying without a wingman. Baron Fel pushed the others from his mind and focused on the duel to come, setting his engines to full throttle.

Missile warnings. Switching to single fire, Baron Fel rolled his TIE as another half-dozen missiles closed in on his fighter, firing at maximum rate to thin the herd. Two of the missiles exploded. The other four missed. Straightening out his flight path, Baron Fel saw the Missile Boat with his own eyes for the first time. Golden wingtips and ash camouflage. His clone.

'Baron Fel. Is that you, brother?'

They met head-on, Fel scoring a hit with a quad-linked laser shot. His shields flared neon blue for a moment as they tanked a shot from the Missile Boat's own guns. His shields had plummeted from double standard capacity to fifty percent. As they passed, Fel saw that the Missile Boat mounted a composite-beam laser. He couldn't even begin to fathom the sort of power plant that could feed that and the Missile Boat's myriad other systems. The Missile Boat matched the Defender's turning radius, allowing Castor to break hard and face Baron Fel once again. This would not be a typical dogfight. There would be no tail-chasing, running, or long-range sniping here. The skies above the hypervelocity cannon network became their list field, an arena upon which the two aces would joust like knights of old.

'So that's how it'll be, then,' Fel said. 'Alright. Here we go.'

* * *

'Left side, left side!' Piggy yelled, tracking fire to the left control room door.

Jesmin was down, gut-shot. Drikall tended to her wound under a hail of blaster fire, struggling to concentrate as the noise picked up. There were too many. Far too many. The Maw forces were desperate, dog-piling into the command center without regard for their own safety. All the rational members of the Maw Irregular Fleet had surrendered long ago. That left the fanatics and the Mandalorians.

Two such Mandalorians charged, vaulting over the control console Ben and Myri were using as cover. Parrying one merc's vibrosword with his lightsaber, Ben pivoted and switched places with Myri, impaling the second on his saber as his battle buddy rammed her knife into the first guy's throat.

'You can be my wingman any time,' Ben said, trading a fist bump with Myri.

'Screw that,' she said. '_You_ can be _my_ wingman.'

'Trey, how's the slicing going?' Wran asked, shooting a Maw trooper through the heart.

'Almost there,' the Wraiths' tech-head replied. 'Keep me covered!'

Sharr roared in pain as a blaster bolt took him in the thigh. Huhunna grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him into cover before taking his place at the E-web.

'Medic!' she roared.

Drikall cursed and made his way to Latt's side. Jesmin had been stabilized to the best of his abilities. He had to move on to the next patient.

Mara fell back into cover, hitting the magazine release on her blaster rifle. 'Last mag!' she called out.

The other Wraiths were in similar shape. Wran was on his last couple of barrels and hot-shot cells. Ben had run out of rifle and pistol ammunition minutes ago, concentrating on making the most of his grenades and lightsaber. Piggy's E-web was getting close to going out of commission, the barrel glowing red from the heat of continuous automatic fire. Everyone else was down to a handful of spare rifle energy cells. Drikall had passed out Jesmin's spares earlier, but those wouldn't last very long.

'Hurry up, Trey,' Piggy yelled above the din of gunfire, 'we'll be down to blades and harsh language in a few minutes!'

'Hold on, hold on,' he said. 'Got it!' He activated his long-range comm unit. 'Wraith Squadron to all starfighters, southern tunnel doors open!'

* * *

'Delta Squad here,' Fixer announced on comms, 'northern tunnel doors open!'

He stayed at the console, fighting to keep the Maw's security programs off as long as he could to buy the starfighters time. By this point, Delta Squad's main weapons had run dry. Boss, Scorch, and Sev had resorted to picking up the low-quality rifles dropped by dead mercs and stormtroopers, using the Mandalorian corpses as additional cover. They'd been forced to repel melee rushes with vamblades and pistols thrice already. The only bright side to all this was that Scorch had used those as opportunities to scrounge up more explosives.

Boss fired on full auto, ripping two enemy stormtroopers to shreds.

'How much longer do we need to hold this position?' Scorch asked.

'As long as it takes,' Sev replied. 'New plan after this next wave. Clog the doors with the corpses.'

* * *

Vigil heard the Wraiths' message moments after vaping one of Omega Squadron's TIEs.

'Two Flight, time for the trench run. Form up and-'

'Negative, Five,' Syal said.

'Say again?'

'Negative. I'll take the first trench run. The rest of you, hold the fort out here and keep the fighters away.'

Vigil grimaced. He didn't like it, but One Flight had done an actual tunnel flight before. They were most qualified for this. 'Roger that, boss. We'll cover One Flight.'

'Negative again. One Flight's not coming with me.'

'What?' Leda asked. 'But Lead, we've-'

'That's an order, Two.'

'We're not letting you go in alone,' Windspeaker said.

'There's still a whole lot of fighters out here, Rogues,' Syal explained. 'I need you all out here to keep them away and cover Nova. There's not enough of us to form a trench run team.'

Beiner said, 'You can't expect us to-'

'You have your orders,' Syal said icily. She'd lost too many squad mates already. They had a better chance of surviving out here than in the tunnels. This was something she had to do herself.

'Five,' Nodra said, 'are we just going to let Rogue Leader go?'

'We are,' Vigil said. 'All of you, listen up. We're playing goalkeeper. While the Commander pulls off her magic in the tunnels, she needs us to hold off the fighters. If we can stop them here, this trench run goes off without a hitch. Ten, form up with One Flight. Two Flight, we fly as a trio. Rogue Squadron, break!'

* * *

Baron Fel rolled his Defender, hitting the Missile Boat with a laser shot as they passed on another head-to-head. Castor fired as well, swinging the composite-beam laser around Fel's flight path, clipping one of the Baron's wing panels. He straightened out his fighter, stabilizing the craft as its balance was thrown off. In his rear-view camera, Fel saw the SLAM system smoking, slagged from the head-to-head.

'A palpable hit, brother,' Castor replied. 'But these are our skies and we'll fly how we please.'

High above, Phennir led the 181st against Gold Squadron's Hunters and the other enemy fighters. Outnumbered, the 181st was hard-pressed to even the score, relying on their decades of experience to keep up with the enemy.

'Try again from head-on,' Baron Fel called out. 'Maybe this time, you'll hit something important.'

Despite his bluster, Fel fought to keep his fighter's path stable, the lack of starboard wing panel throwing it off-balance. He rolled, orienting his craft so the remaining two panels faced downward to even out the mass distribution. After years of void combat, the odd view no longer disoriented him. On his targeting display, Castor's Missile Boat appeared once more, coming straight at him. This time, Fel loosed a pair of concussion missiles at range then switched to lasers, firing as they passed. This time, Castor missed and took hits. The composite-beam laser cannon had been blasted off.

They jousted again and again and again, each time whittling one another's shields down even further. Fel tried to turn again, only for the fighter to slip too far. He realized his mistake a split second before Castor caught his fighter in the Missile Boat's tractor beam. Turning, Baron Fel unloaded the last of his missiles before yanking on the eject handle. His Defender exploded, caught by a swarm of missiles as Castor's own fighter took a fatal wound. He saw an ejector seat as the experimental craft fell. Working his seat's grav-chute controls, Baron Fel aimed for the Imperial lines, hoping to land far enough back from the street fighting to not get ventilated by stormtroopers.

He eased the stick slowly, nudging it, trying to adjust for the wind. As he descended, he realized that while he would land behind Imperial lines, he wouldn't touch down at ground level. He landed on the roof of one of the AT-ATs and hit the harness release as Castor touched down in front of him. The clone looked exactly like him, but younger and lacking an eyepatch. Castor smiled.

'At last we meet, broth-'

Fel told him to talk to the hand. Then he plucked the audio broadcaster from his helmet and spoke into the receiver. '_Fffffffinally_, THE BARON HAS COME BACK TO THE MAW CLUSTER!'

Above them, the two Baron Fels had an audience. The ghosts of Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi, bored in death, had finally found something fun to watch that didn't involve Luke and Mara's love life or Super Space Bowl Sunday.

'And as far as the Baron is concerned,' Fel said, 'there is only _one_ question that needs to be asked. _Who_ in the _blue milk hell_ are you?'

'My name, Baron Fel, is Ca-'

'IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOUR NAME IS!' Baron Fel yelled. 'Because as far as the Great One is concerned, your name is "Jabroni", and you are nothing but a rooty-poo candy ass!'

'Wha-'

'KNOW YOUR ROLE AND SHUT YOUR MOUTH. You think you can come here, treat the Maw Cluster as your stomping grounds, shoot and exploit the _people_ of the Outer Rim, and call the _People's_ Champion "brother"? Well, let the Baron tell you something, "brrrrother". The Baron _is_ the People's Champion, and he stands for the _billioooooons-'_

_'And BILLIOOOOOONS!'_ Anakin and Obi-Wan chorused.

'-of his fans in and around the galaxy, regardless of where they live! You are not the Baron's brother, let alone even a proper clone of him! You may have the meat, you may have a copy of the People's biceps and the People's eyebrow and the People's strudel, but as far as I've seen, Jabroni, you aren't even remotely electrifying! The Baron kicked your squadron's ass up and down the Rim, and up there, the 181st are applying boots to asses again up and down this jungle! You flew out in a _Missile Boat_, a fighter _designed_ to murder TIE Defenders by the dozen, and the Baron still smeared its sorry behind!'

'And yet here _you_ are,' Castor sniped, 'vaped and ejected, spouting insults and yelling like some sort of professional wrestler. We are the same, you and I, opposite sides of the same coin! The only difference between us is age. I'm younger, faster, and in my prime. You and Antilles and Skywalker? Relics of the past! When we're done with you, my generation will inherit this galaxy and revel in never-ending war!'

'Well, the Baron has only three words for that, Jabroni, and they are this: Just. Bring it.'

* * *

High above, the two Force ghosts watched the battle begin.

'Castor's charging,' Anakin said. 'He throws the first punch-_oooh_, he just misses!'

'Baron Fel's behind him! Oh man!' Obi-Wan exclaimed. 'The Baron's grabbed the clone's head and he's slamming it into the missile battery!'

'Wait a minute, what's Castor doing? What's he-by the Force, he's got a knife! What's the Baron gonna do?'

'I don't know, Anakin, but-damn, that was a mean headbutt! And a groin kick? That's just low!'

'It made him drop the knife, though, so they're back to bare hands!'

'This is one hell of a match-up, my friend, even after the amazing Katarn/Fett grudge match!'

'And what a match it is! Bam! Wait a minute! Stunner! Stone Cold Stunner! That's one of Stone Cold Horton Salm's moves! And what's he-Oh, the Baron's grapped Castor's leg! He's knocked him down and he's going for the pin! Can he do it? Can he? One! Two! Th-It's no good! Castor's broken free! And they're back up again! But wait a minute, Castor's still trying to catch his breath! He still hasn't recovered from the chokehold! How's the Baron going to-ROCK BOTTOM! ROCK BOTTOM!'

'And the Baron's picked him up agai-DOUBLE ROCK BOTTOM! A DOUBLE ROCK BOTTOM! HE'S GOING CRAZY! CASTOR'S NOT GETTING UP! IS IT TIME FOR THE PIN?'

'And is he going to pin? Is he gonna pi-No. Oh no. Sweet bacon-flavored Force, he's going to do it!'

'The Most Electrifying Finisher in All of Space Entertainment!'

'He's setting up for it aaaand THE PEOPLE'S ELBOW! WAIT, HE'S GOING FOR IT AGAIN! A SECOND PEOPLE'S ELBOW!'

'Is he going to make it three? What's he going to-BY GAWD, A THIRD PEOPLE'S ELBOW! HAVE SOME MERCY, BARON FEL!'

'He's going for the pin! One! Two! Three! AND IT'S GOOD! THE BARON WINS! THE GREAT ONE WINS! CASTOR IS AS FLACCID AS MY GHOSTMEMBER!'

'Match of the century!'

* * *

Baron Fel stood victorious above Castor's ruined body.

'You're pretty good,' Castor rasped, blood streaming from his head wounds.

Damn right. Baron Fel raised his title belt high. He _was_ back, and he still had the chops. And high above, he saw that the 181st was with him in mind and spirit. They, too, flew uncontested in the skies over the jungle. Gold Squadron had died along with their leader, their Hunters little more than smoking wrecks on the forest floor. And with that, Baron Fel opened the top escape hatch on the AT-AT and dropped down to watch the battle continue from the safety of its armored confines.

* * *

'Red Flight, form up,' Wedge said.

In good order, his team disengaged from their dogfights and joined him in a V formation.

'Something up?' Tycho asked.

'Rogue Leader's started her attack run. We're going in as backup.'

'What about her orders to stay outside?' Wes asked.

'I outrank her. If she has a problem with that, she can take it up with me,' Wedge replied. 'Or her mother. Either or.'

'That's cold, Boss,' Hobbie said, smirking at Wedge's parental instincts.

'Just like the good old days, eh, Buddy?' Luke quipped.

'Yeah. Just like the good old days.'

Wedge inverted his X-wing and dove, pushing toward the tunnels at full throttle as Red Flight formed up behind him.

'Peregrine Leader, how are things on your end?' Wedge asked.

Han's voice came up after a brief burst of static. 'Taken some casualties, but we're still good. Beginning my attack run here, too.'

The _Falcon_ would likely go in alone due to her size. Besides, she had turrets. Han didn't need wingmen to run a trench.

'Roger that,' Wedge said. 'We'll see you on the other side.'

* * *

'Come on, come on,' Vigil muttered, taking his X-wing into a turn so tight it overrode his intertial compensator settings. Flight harness digging into his shoulders, Vigil fought to fix a target lock on the enemy TIE. Just a little more. Just a little more and-

Lock.

Vigil's trigger finger flexed, sending a burst of dual-linked fire into the TIE's flight path. Its shields gave, then the last pair of bolts clipped its engine, setting the fighter ablaze. He heard the enemy pilots' pained screams for a moment on the comm before he mercy-killed the man with a final shot to the ball cockpit.

This was the worst furball the Rogues had endured yet, not because of the enemy's skills, but because of numbers. He was confident that the Rogues could take any squadron in the galaxy in a fair fight, but here, they would be burned down by sheer volume of fire.

'Rogues, status check!'

'Seven here, Eight's down but extravehicular.'

Bulsara comm-clicked. He was still on Vigil's wing.

'Two here, Three and Four are still active, too.'

'Alright,' Vigil said. 'Here's what we'll do. Seven, protect Eight but don't get too close. You'll draw their fire to her. The rest of you, keep those TIEs engaged. Heaven's Eye, we have a downed pilot near our location. Her transponder's active. Can you spare a shuttle?'

'Uh, roger that,' Heaven's Eye responded. 'We've got one on the way.'

'Many thanks. Rogue Five out.'

Good. Now they had to focus on keeping the fighters away from the maintenance tunnels. He rolled, vaping an unlucky Scyk as it veered into his crosshairs. Then he reacquired and grazed a squint's wing panel before breaking off to dodge an enemy missile lock. There were simply too many fighters. Sweet gods of space, there were too many. A dumb-fired missile detonated too close for comfort, taking his shields down and showering his fighter with shrapnel. The shockwave from the explosion also knocked out some of his instrument panel readouts, including his hull status monitor.

'Brick, how's the damage? Are we still good?'

The chunky astromech beeped in affirmative.

'Alright, let's see what else we can-_shit!_'

Suddenly his cockpit rang with a half-dozen missile locks. The other Rogues' cursing hinted at similar predicaments across the board. For a moment, they were all distracted, devoted to dodging and breaking locks that ultimately never held. As they did, the surviving pilots of Omega Squadron sped past their broken defense.

'No! Goddammit!' Vigil explained. 'Five to Lead, Five to Lead! If you can hear me, you've got TIEs coming up on your tail!'

Static. Nothing. They were too far deep already. Son of a bitch.

* * *

Tunnel flights. Always with the tunnel flights. As he followed Syal's X-wing deeper into these tunnels, Wedge couldn't help but smile at the creeping feeling of deja vu. Once again, he'd been roped into a ridiculous attack run through places no starfighter had any right to occupy, daring Lady Luck to declare his account dry at every turn and laser impact as pursuing TIEs nipped at his aft. The only difference was that this time, he was playing the shield again. Wedge ignored Gate's complaints, maneuvering his X-wing to intercept the shots coming down the tunnel at the lead fighter.

Syal said suddenly, 'The tunnel's forking up ahead. Split up, see if you can draw some of the heat away.'

Wedge saw a split twenty kilometers ahead, with one route leading to the core and another leading back out to the surface. He keyed his comm-bead. 'Two, Three, Four, break to the port side fork.'

'Two, solid copy.'

As the X-wings reached the split, Tycho led Hobbie and Wes down the exit tunnel, bringing half of the pursuing TIEs on a wild goose chase back to the planet's surface. And then there were three. Syal, Luke, and Wedge continued on their flight path even as the remaining TIEs chewed away at their shields. This was insane. They all were. Just one slight deviation from their course and they would die, dashed against the walls.

'Rogue Leader to Reds. Status.'

Wedge glanced at his systems panel. 'Still fully functional,' he said. 'Shields at ten aft, zero front.'

'Same. Twelve aft, zero front.' Luke's X-wing was only slightly better off thanks to R2-D2's expert ministrations. The little astromech had a bit more experience than Gate when it came to squeezing every single ounce of energy possible from a starfighter's power plant. The Force was no use here. In quarters this tight, dodging was nearly impossible.

'I'm still reading full,' Syal said. 'Rotate formation. I'll bring up the rear.'

'Negative,' Luke said. 'We'll keep the heat off you.'

'You both stand a bigger chance of getting out of here alive if-'

Wedge cut her off. 'Forget it. I'm not letting my own daughter play meat shield for me.'

'But-'

'Maintain formation, Rogue Leader,' Luke told her. 'Don't worry about us.'

Artoo beeped worriedly.

'Relax, Artoo. We've done this a thousand times. Well, we did it once. Divert everything but engine power to keeping those aft shields charged up.'

Wedge gritted his teeth, sideslipping, rolling, and dodging as much as the impossibly close quarters would allow him, trying everything he could to reduce shield damage. Even with his skills, there simply wasn't enough room to maneuver. Glancing blows to his shields chipped away at his energy reserves faster than his X-wing's power plant could compensate. All he could hear now was the incessant low shields warning from his fighter's computer. But slowly, slowly they closed the distance to the target. Minute by agonizing minute, the chase continued. Wedge cursed when he felt the first impacts on his X-wing's hull. Some of his system status displays blacked out as vital components were lost.

Luke saw the damage done to Wedge's starfighter and cut his throttle slightly, placing his own paper-thin shield between Wedge and the Maw fighters. Artoo chirped cautiously, highlighting the rapidly depleting shield gauge on the Jedi Master's display.

'Just a little more, buddy,' Luke muttered. 'Just a little more.'

'You're not getting away so easily, Antilles,' said Omega Leader, his past calm giving way to unadulterated rage. 'We will reclaim the Empire that was taken from us!'

'Kiss my exhaust, you son of a bitch,' Syal replied, turning hard as the tunnel reached a ninety degree turn.

Omega Squadron hounded Syal, Wedge, and Luke at every twist and turn, chipping away shield power with potshots as the X-wings flickered into and out of their crosshairs. Eventually, even Luke's shields gave way, and a glancing shot nearly took R2-D2's head off. Had he been a meatbag, the angry astromech would have shaken his fist and let loose a string of profanities too family-unfriendly to be repeated. Instead, he made do with just the profanity.

Then they reached it. The core chamber, impossibly massive and cavernous, the two target cooling units sitting next to the fortress' power generator. Free to maneuver, Luke, Syal, and Wedge loosened their formation, granting themselves a small bit of maneuvering space. Then the next bit of good news hit.

'Kid, this is the _Falcon, _we're coming in on your front. Hit the cooling unit furthest from you and get ready to break right on three.'

'Rogue to _Falcon_, solid copy.'

On her display, Syal saw the _Millennium Falcon's _IFF signature appear at the far end of the core chamber. The distance counter dropped rapidly as Han closed in on the three X-wings.

'One.'

Syal's grip on the flight stick tensed.

'Two.'

Luke's shields finally gave way. One more lucky shot from that TIE and-

'_Three!_'

The X-wings slipped to starboard as the _Falcon_ roared past, firing its turrets and concussion missile launchers. Caught by surprise, the three Omega TIEs became a single large fireball as Chewie vaped them with a single burst from the topside quad.

Han whooped loudly as he cleared the X-wings' six o'clock of hostiles. 'You're all clear, kid! Now let's blow this place and go home!'

Luke and Wedge returned the favor, vaping the fighters chasing the _Falcon_ as they flew into view. Syal armed her ordnance launchers and loosed a trio of torpedoes at the final heatsink. It was right on the money. Secondary explosions sundered the generator, vital components melting and exploding, setting off a chain reaction as power conduits detonated and gas lines burst. The automated blast containment system kicked into high gear, great durasteel doors slowly descending to prevent the explosions from tearing the place apart. There were no more pursuers to hinder them. Nothing but a time limit. Syal put all her discretionary power into acceleration, pushing herself and her fighter to its limits. No gunfire, no pursuers, no objective but to keep on flying. Despite everything, Syal grinned. She was an Antilles, her own father's daughter. This sort of insanity was what she lived for.

Sideslip, roll, break, turn. Once again, it boiled down to sheer balls and reflex as she, Luke, and Wedge slipped between the closing blast doors, flying as fast as they could to outrun the secondary explosions and the fireball running down the base's maintenance tunnels. Syal ignored the warnings running across her display. Shrapnel, fire damage, system malfunctions-as long as it had nothing to do with her engines or control, she would worry about it later. She hit the brakes, cut the throttle, and pushed hard on the stick, turning so sharply to starboard she nearly lost consciousness. Not far now, she thought. The final stretch, one long straightaway. Syal angled down, skimming low as the blast doors edged closer and closer to shutting completely. She passed the first before it was halfway down, then the second, three quarters of the way to closing. The third and final one was so low the X-wing's belly nearly scraped the ground. Spark protested as his head nearly clipped the door's lip. At that speed he would have been decapitated cleanly, but Syal pulled through. Just before the explosions reached the tunnel's mouth, Syal was free, flying up into open air, Luke and Wedge a second behind her.

'Hypervelocity gun complex destroyed,' reported Heaven's Eye, 'I'm seeing a lot of explosions. Did anyone get out?'

'This is Red Two. I see three X-wings leaving the far tunnel entrance and one YT-1300 on the other end. They made it out.'

Syal breathed a sigh of relief, evening out her fighter's power output.

'Never doing that again,' Wes muttered.

'All fighters, this is Heaven's Eye. Mission successful. Time to return home. That was one hell of a job, folks.'

None of them had to be told twice. Syal pulled up and accelerated, leading the procession of starfighters back into the heavens as the remaining Rogues formed up around her.

Vigil, his StealthX battered and burnt from countless laser impacts, let out a long, slow breath.

'So,' he said, 'what are we doing tomorrow?'


	35. Epilogue

Epilogue

'So,' Wedge said. 'Gravball.'

'Yep,' Baron Fel replied.

The two of them sat at the top of the bleachers in the _Tiger Claw_'s gymnasium along with Tycho, Fel's Wrath, and a handful of other pilots. Down below, Wes, Hobbie, Stele, and Phennir engaged in their long-awaited gravball match.

'Gravball.'

'Mmhm.'

In the gravball court, Wes and Hobbie whooped and traded a high-five as they landed an alley-oop, the third time in a row they'd scored.

'GET DUNKED, IMPSIDE!' Wes yelled.

Wedge and Fel watched in silence for a few minutes as the scoreboard went back and forth.

Wedge smirked. 'Hey, Fel, did you ever teach your pilots the finer points of gravball?'

'I did,' the Baron said.

'Funny. Doesn't seem like it.'

'Whoawhoawhoawhoa whoa _whoa_.' Baron Fel raised the People's Eyebrow. 'Are you trying to say something, Jabroni?'

'Oh, nothing,' Wedge said nonchalantly. 'Just that for a bunch of undisciplined Rebel dogs, Red Flight sure seems to have more game than the One-Eighty-Worst.'

Baron Fel got up on his feet, raising the People's Eyebrow higher than Wedge thought physically possible. 'You want to prove that on the court, Antilles?'

Wedge did the same and took off his tunic, revealing a dark green gravball jersey. 'I already proved it in the cockpit, _brrrrrother_.'

Fel tore off his own tunic. He, too, wore a gravball jersey underneath, though his was black with red bloodstripes. He tapped the team logo on his jersey. 'Oh, you're on. And just for the record, _go Heat, bitch_.'

The two walked down the bleachers and entered the gravball court, taking up positions with their own flight mates.

'Here comes the _slam_,' Baron Fel said.

Wedge nodded. 'Now we find out who's number one.'

Tycho shook his head, sipping his space soda.

'To this day, I'll never understand the piloting community's obsession with gravball,' Tycho muttered up in the bleachers. 'I don't suppose you understand much either, don't you?'

ST-166 looked at him in silence then shrugged.

* * *

Luke and Mara were grinning from ear to ear as their shuttle neared the Jedi Praxeum. Just a few more minutes and they'd be back in the familiar halls of the Jedi Order's headquarters. More specifically, they'd be back in their quarters.

'Man, it's so good to be coming home,' Mara purred. She put on some sort of accent. Luke couldn't tell what. 'Hey, Mister J, you ready to rev up yer Marley? Vroom vroom!'

Luke played along and spoke in his villain voice. 'Now, now, Marley dear, you know I've still got some work to do when we get back. But for now, how about we put on some music?'

'That sounds _marvelous_, honey,' Mara crooned.

Luke hit the sound system and a familiar tune began to play.

'What?' Mara asked, incredulous. She expected something sexy. Not _this_.

'I know you know the words, Mara,' Luke said. 'Come on. Come on, come on, come on. You know you love it.'

Rolling her eyes, Mara chuckled. 'Alright, fine. Let's do this.'

Mara: I'm MJ Skywalker on the rap so mic it! Here's a little story and you're sure to like it! Swift and sly, this ain't no fluke, with my homeboy, your Old Man Luke!

Luke: Baby seems we never, ever agree. I like the YTs and you like YVs!

Mara: I take things serious and you take 'em light!

Luke: I go to bed early-

Mara: -And I party all night!

Luke: Our friends are sayin'

Mara: We ain't gonna last

Luke: 'Cause I move _slowly_

Mara: And baby, I'm fast!

Luke: I like it quiet!

Mara: And I love to shout!

Both: But when we get together it just all works out!

Luke: I take two steps forward

Mara: I take two steps back

Both: We come together 'cause opposites attract! And you know it ain't fiction, just a natural fact! We come together 'cause opposites attract!

Mara: Who'd have thought we could be lovers?

Luke: She makes the bed...

Mara: And he steals the covers!

Luke: She likes it neat!

Mara: And he makes a mess!

Luke: I take it easy.

Mara: Baby, I get obsessed!

Luke: She's got the money-

Mara: And he's always broke!

Luke: I don't like cigarras

Mara: And I like to smoke (not really)

Both: Things in common, there just ain't a one, but when we get together, we have nothin' but fun!

Luke and Mara collapsed in a fit of laughter, devolving into full-on hysterics as the song cut off, their shuttle setting up for an automated landing procedure. Mara still made for a great backup singer. Mara pulled Luke into a tight hug and gave him a peck on the cheek.

'I missed this,' she said.

'So did I.'

'Now let's get to our old room,' Mara whispered, bobbing her eyebrows. 'I want to make some _real_ music.'

* * *

Inside the Praxeum lounge, the other Jedi had set up a big surprise party with a cake and a banner welcoming Mara back.

'They're here!' called out Tyria Sarkin.

Kyle Katarn twitched. He sensed a disturbance in the Force. Sighing, he turned to Keyan Farlander. 'Hey, do you mind heading to the gym storage closet?'

'Why?' Farlander asked.

'We need to break out the Skywalker Duty schedule again. And the hose.'

'Oh. _Oh.'_ Farlander shuddered. Luke and Mara were insatiable. And they'd be even worse because of that whole five years business.

Meanwhile, in the back, Wraiths gave Ben a round of light teasing. They knew he was incredibly embarrassed by his parents' habits. After the Maw Campaign, the Wraiths had been sent to the Jedi Order to assist them in another mission. And of course, that meant messing with their newest honorary member, especially when they saw the Skywalker Duty board dusted off.

'Yub yub, Mime Boy,' Myri sing-songed, giving his rump a playful slap.

'Stop that.'

'Make me.'

Ben grabbed her arm when she tried slapping him again, only to find himself in a CQC hold. Myri nibbled on his ear. The rest of the Wraiths cheered and laughed. This sort of goofing around had gone on since they were kids, but Ben still found it incredibly embarrassing. He never could grapple as well as Myri.

'Yeah, get some for old JT!' Jesmin called.

'You know you want it, Ben!' Trey said.

'I hate you all,' he said, turning beet red.

* * *

Gilad Pellaeon watched sadly as Daala's carbonite-encased form was carted off to the iso-chambers. The trial had been quick and decisive, and Emperor Fel was in no mood for Daala's speeches. She'd killed countless loyal Imperial citizens and terrorized a massive swath of the Outer Rim but still, he couldn't _not_ see her as an old friend. What a mess she'd made when it all went wrong. He wished that they'd reunited under more peaceful circumstances.

'Grand Admiral Pellaeon?'

He ignored the voice, barely even registering the noise.

'Grand Admiral Pellaeon?' the voice said more insistently.

That broke him out of his reverie. Pellaeon blinked and shook his head. 'Apologies, I was distracted. Yes, Lieutenant?'

Beside him, the younger officer saluted smartly and handed him a datapad. 'Here's the latest report, sir. Refueling and refit are complete. Avalanche Force and Delta, Lambda, Zeta, and Upsilon Teams are transferred and settled in.'

Pellaeon scrolled down the datapad readout, nodding in approval. 'Very good, Lieutenant. Is my flagship ready?'

'She's waiting for you at the spacedock, sir.'

'Good. See that _Chimaera_ is warmed up when I get there. We'll be breaking anchor soon.'

'Aye aye, sir. And Admiral? It's good to have you back.'

Pellaeon smiled, anticipating the pleasure of walking the old ImpStar Deuce's familiar corridors once again. _Bloodfin_ remained with his fleet, but she had given up her flagship post to her older sister. It was only appropriate, after all.

'It's good to _be_ back, Lieutenant. Let's get this fleet in order, shall we?'

* * *

'We have pilots today?'

'We have pilots.'

Wing Commander Syal Antilles walked down the quiet corridors of Folor Base, the only sounds coming from her footsteps and those of her second-in-command. It had been rebuilt in the years following the Zsinj campaign, refurbished and refitted to better accommodate the Alliance forces stationed there. Even so, it still had that air of old age about it that brought back those stories her father used to tell. They were stories that spoke of a generation far greater than hers, of the larger-than-life heroes who now showed up to her dad's doorstep during family reunions. She hoped that the events of the past few months had allowed her and her pilots to take a step out from beneath their shadow.

At her side walked Lieutenant Commander Jost Vigil, freshly promoted to fill in the shoes Aresh had left. Vigil was a good man, a top-notch flight lead. The promotion was more than deserved despite his claims otherwise. He was new to the rank, unused to the responsibilities it entailed. Still, Syal was fully confident in his ability to adapt. She handed him a datapad with all the applicants they would test today. The younger Rogue let out a low whistle.

'You sure all these zeroes are right, boss?'

Syal smiled. 'Pretty sure. After the shit we pulled in the past few months, everyone and their mother knows that the Rogues are back for good.'

Shaking his head in disbelief, Vigil scrolled down the list, looking at all the names. The applicant turnout was far higher than normal for a single fighter squadron. Then again, they weren't a single fighter squadron anymore. They'd been reorganized into the 108th Fighter Wing. Rogue Wing. Three squadrons of the Alliance's best and brightest, according to Starfighter Command regulations. Two _thousand_ applicants had applied to join the new unit. The paperwork alone was going to put a few extra gray hairs on Vigil's head, not to mention all the interviews, disciplinary actions, and combat exercises they would have to go through.

'So, who's first?' Syal asked.

Vigil looked at the datapad again. 'Well, his name's Kettch and he's an Ewok.'

Syal gave him a very pointed look.

'Yub yub, Commander.'


End file.
